


Somebody Said You Wanted Nothing To Do With Me

by wirewrappedlily



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Author is a madwoman, Car Accidents, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Minor Character Death, Not SPECTRE Compliant, Slow Build, can one call it slow build when it does not have much of a wordcount?, don't ask: just read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 40,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wirewrappedlily/pseuds/wirewrappedlily
Summary: The Quartermaster of MI6 was a useful tool in James Bond’s arsenal, but when it came down to it, he was not much more than that.





	1. Ripped At Every Edge, But You're A Masterpiece

The Quartermaster of MI6 was a useful tool in James Bond’s arsenal, but when it came down to it, he was not much more than that. 

James took what he wanted from Q-Branch, left them and MI6 as blind to his actions as possible, and rarely stopped to think on what a sin that neglect was. 

Headed to Q-Branch, James was more than a little impressed when one of Q’s minions almost took him to the ground in her rush. 

“Zinnia?” 004 called from behind Bond, and the minion flinched at the sound of her own name. Having gotten Bond’s feet back under him, however, Zinnia seemed hellbent to go where she’d been headed. 

“Q’s been hurt!” Zinnia told 004 as she ran on, and it was simply luck that saw her crash into no one else. 

Bond was cut off from storming into Q-Branch; 004 making it before he managed, the look on the man’s face dire as he advanced into the warrens of techs. “Q!” 

“No!” R scrambled to try to head 004 off, her red curls a wild halo around her grey-tinged face. “No, Marc, he doesn’t need you—either of you—barging in. I only just convinced him to let Zinni go get Medical.” 

“What the buggering fuck happened, Mary?” 004, Marc Syles, demanded. He looked more irate than Bond would have given him credit for. Q was useful, but it was obvious that there was no accident that had happened to hurt the Quartermaster. 

Mary’s thin lips pinched, but all heads turned as the door to Q’s office clicked open, and the pale apparition of the man appeared. 

Only, he wasn’t so pale. He was bruised, and bloodied. Two of his fingers were taped together with what looked like electrical tape, and he could only squint at the scene before him, his glasses clearly the cause of a good deal of the lacerations on his face. “Marc?” Q asked softly, voice steady but strangled, and James caught sight of abrasions on his throat—in the shape of hands. 

“Q…what happened?” Marc’s voice had turned breathless with his shock, but there was an undercurrent of danger simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Sir, you should be sitting down.” Mary brooked no argument, and Bond moved to a wheelie chair vacated when Mary had gone to intercept them, only to turn back to find Marc gently helping Q into another one. 

“You didn’t go to Medical?” Marc asked with a false calm that James was surprised at. James was more concerned that Q had been compromised, that the man didn’t seem willing to talk about what had happened. 

“I wanted to find them first.” Q muttered dangerously. 

“Who?” 

Q nodded to Mary, who retrieved what looked like three passports, handing them to Marc silently, though her disapproval was written on every line of her face. Marc opened the passports, and James noticed that two of them were soaked with blood. “They tried to grab me last night, on my way home.” Q hissed in pain as he sat back in the chair as much as he could. 

“Has M been informed?” James asked Mary quietly, only to find himself summarily ignored as Zinnia arrived with a team of Medical personnel. 

“Bond.” Marc beckoned, and James took the opportunity to cross to where he looked over the passports before the flurry of Medical made that impossible. Marc handed him one of the passports silently, turning his attention to eavesdropping on what the medical team was reporting. The passport was for a familiar figure, and James felt himself go cold with rage. 

“Impact injuries to the ribs—“ 

“Breathing sounds fine.” 

“You were in that car-crash last night, weren’t you? The one they’re still cleaning up.” Marc asked over the chatter of medical, and everyone seemed to pause for the answer. 

Though it had to hurt, Q gave a slow smile, reopening his split lip to have ruby red stand against his pale skin, “I _caused_ that car-crash last night, 004.”


	2. A Revolution in the Light of Day

002 and 006 showed up in Q’s hospital room before James managed to get there to question Q about what happened. Alec bore a gift-basket of baked goods that look like Medical would be complaining about sugar intake in minutes, and Thalia Dreer, 002, had come with a contraption that would boil water, steep tea, and even add the correct amounts of sugar or milk requested—which, James realized, Q had made her the last time she’d been in one of those beds. 

“What would you like? I packed it with Earl Grey, jasmine, chai, and the green-jasmine blend you got me hooked on.” Thalia informed him, manoeuvring the thing into position and producing Q’s mug from seemingly nowhere. 

“Green, please.” Q replied, “I want something soothing but caffeinated.” Smiling impishly, Q accepted Alec’s offer of a pain au chocolat that filled the room with the golden, buttery smell of the pastry with only a hint, however sharp, of the chocolate. 

“I’m afraid,” James murmured after taking this in, “I have come bearing no gifts, Quartermaster.” 

“You’ve come to ask about the idiots that tried to kidnap me; best gift of all will be when I can get out of here and go home without looking over my bloody shoulder.” Q waved his broken hand as if dismissing the idea that James wasn’t bringing him a gift, but both of the other Double-Ohs watched James as if judging. 

The interview is largely fruitless: Q had already laid out what had happened to Mary and Zinnia, but it does give James the idea to check if either of them know anything more that the trauma could have Q forgetting. 

Running into 003 and 001 on his way out; Peggy Carlson loaded for bear with takeaway and Charlie Dover carrying what seemed to be the man’s bodyweight in chocolate, James had to wonder at the fact that, of those involved, the Quartermaster seemed the least traumatized of them all.


	3. Isn't This the Reason Why You Came?

“I want in.” Peggy growled, dropping into step with him easily. 

“Which is entirely why it was assigned to 007, Pegs.” Alec sighed from down the corridor, leaning on the doorjamb. “M’s well aware we’d all rain hell upon whoever thought it was a good idea to hurt our Q.” _All of us but you_ , the thought remained unfinished, Alec’s mouth twisted wryly around it. 

James knew better than to question why the other Double-Ohs cared, but he wasn’t happy about the silent judgement he’d been receiving from them. 

“That’s what makes it so bloody frustrating!” Peggy shrilled, and behind Alec, Eve Moneypenny could be heard loudly humming her agreement. 

“M wants all of the operatives as alive and intact as can be managed,” Alec reminded both Eve and Peggy loudly, “if we go in, we’re liable to kill first and ask questions never.”

Peggy growled, and a sharp nail prodded Alec perfectly in the side in such a way that the man practically leapt out of the doorway. Eve regarded James long and hard before turning her attention to Peggy, “C’mon, I’m taking Q something delectable and we’re going to watch _The Frighteners_.” 

“Oooh, are you guys still working on expanding your horror-movie retinue?” 

“Mm-hm. Q says it works well for us because jump-scares never pay off on real fear, and between us we yell at the characters enough not to drive each other nuts.” 

“I’m in! For fuck’s sake, why did this start without me?!” Peggy asked conversationally. 

“You were in Kuwait at the time.” 

Even as the women entered the elevator, the disappointed pout could be heard in Peggy’s voice, “Oh…yeah.” 

James turned back to Alec, who was regarding him with the same, slightly disappointed look that had been a new staple expression. “Have you gone to actually see him?” 

“No.” 

Alec shook his head, rolling his eyes slightly, and turned to follow the way Eve and Peggy had gone. “You should think about the last time you were in Medical—what he did for you then.” 

The last time James had been in Medical, Q had outfit him with a tablet prototype, loaded down with puzzle games and books and a regularly-updated playlist of the best of what Q-Branch was listening to that had continued to update itself once Bond had left Medical and conveniently forgotten to return the device. The time before that, Q had had Alec come—he was also being held hostage in Medical—and make a list of potentially-useful gadgets for Q-Branch to look into. It had been a game between the agents to come up with the most outrageous and esoteric thing possible and for two days neither of them had paid much mind to where they were other than to demand better coffee. 

It had been…rather perfect, actually. Q knew his agents well, and had figured out how to bribe them into staying put for the doctors. If James was hard-pressed, he’d even say that it was almost…sweet. Though James had the suspicion that if he talked to his fellow Double-Ohs, he’d find they had similar acts of kindness from the Quartermaster interrupting the slog that made up life between missions.


	4. Might Be What You Want, But Not What You Need

James walked into Q’s hospital room to find Zinnia, Eve, Thalia, Marc, and an equally-injured 009, David MacArthur, wearing the most ridiculous hats James had ever seen and loudly playing Cards Against Humanity. 

"You're all so very damaged!" Eve was laughing too hard, tipping dangerously on her chair until Marc reached out and righted her before she could tip over onto Thalia. 

"No, you don't say." Q gasped, putting on a good show of being shocked and scandalized. 

Drawing as far into the room as he dared, James took in the motley gang of his fellow assassins draped around two hackers and a glorified secretary. "A party and you didn't invite me?" James asked softly, and Marc scoffed at him from where he was trying to get a look at Zinnia's cards. 

"It might be my birthday, Bond, and you haven't earned an invitation." Q told him, voice more magnanimous than his words. 

"Might be?" James questioned. 

"Orphans make the best recruits, and no one knows when my real birthday is." Q told him sweetly. 

"No one knows the actual date of my birth, either," David chimed in, "so every time I come back from mission, Q and I have a birthday party." 

Q had been draped in several sequined scarves, his head topped not with a ridiculous hat, but with a fascinator crown whose decorative feathers all-but disappeared into the wild tumult of curls. "First time I've been as laid-up as you usually are, though." 

"Let's have it also be the last," Thalia murmured softly, reaching up to card her fingers through Q's hair. "How is that going, 007?"

James shot her a look, and she smiled beatifically. 

"Stop it, all of you." Q admonished fondly, "Bond, how can I help you?" 

In truth, James had been hoping--foolishly, he now realized--to find Q alone at four o'clock on a Wednesday. "I was coming to see if there was anything I could do for you, actually, Quartermaster." It was surprisingly close to the truth, really, and Eve couldn't hold back a smirk at him as the words left his mouth. 

"I find myself well taken care of at the moment, Bond, but you can feel free to join us until Nurse Helen chases everyone out on account of too many visitors." 

"Do we have a hat for Bond?" David asked impishly, smirking despite the broken cheekbone. 

"No, because I refuse to have to deal with the fallout of the glitter-hat that Moneypants brought as a backup. I do not need to somehow end up with glitter everywhere, I am trapped in here for another two days and I _refuse_." Q said vehemently, eyes flashing with threat as everyone else fought laughter.

Eve couldn't stop herself, and snickered, "I'd ask if your apartment is still in recovery from going to that rave with me, but I have no doubt that it is." 

"It's _everywhere_ ," Q hissed, "and it won't _go away_." 

"Still worth it, though?" Eve asked, putting on a sultry voice that the other Double-Ohs were sniggering at. 

Q's eyes lit up, "Definitely worth it." 

"I never thought our angelic Quartermaster would be so ready to drag a man who looks like Shakespeare's Puck covered in glitter into bed with him." Thalia cooed. 

"We didn't make it to the bed." Q replied tartly, and Marc cracked up laughing, clapping appreciatively. The tips of Q's ears were just gently pink, and James couldn't help but re-evaluate the adorable boffin ensconced in pillows and blankets that were obviously supplied from someone's--perhaps even Q's--home. 

"Not to say this isn't the best glimpse into the Overlord's sex life--" 

"Thank you for not calling it a love life." Q interjected smoothly. 

"--But I would much prefer to know if _Bond_ has ever played Cards Against Humanity before." Zinnia finished, her brown eyes bright with possibility. 

James accepted the chair vacated by Thalia as she draped herself across Q's lap, and he couldn't help but smiling as Q coloured slightly, but gently laid his hand over Thalia's knee. 

"I'm going to carefully not answer that; let's just play."


	5. Try and Give Yourself Some Rest, and Let Me Worry 'Bout It

James found that coming at three in the morning brought him just Q and the sleeping David in the bed wheeled next to Q's in what was meant to be a private room. 

"007," Q greeted, eyes still closed and body still lax in his nest, "is there a particular reason why you're breaking into my prison?" 

James smiled only slightly from the doorway, eyes tracking over David where he lay, apparently unconscious. 

"They have 009 on the good drugs, Bond. He'll hear us, but it's not likely he'll think it's anything more than a dream." 

"And are you and David an item, Q?" James asked softly, coming to the chair Zinnia had fallen asleep in; that James had carried her out of. 

"I try not to date spies. I find it rather lowers one's life-expectancy, but I also already have someone I want, though he'll never give me the time of day." 

"Oh? Has he given you the time of night and absconded with your heart, instead?" 

Q's eyes opened blearily, and James shifted closer so that Q could focus without his replacement specs. "No. He's safe to love from afar. I can get my itches scratched by meaningless flings while I moon pathetically in private." 

James hummed, shaking his head, "I would admonish you to be more careful about meaningless flings, Q, but I rather think you'd only wreak vengeance on me later." 

"I would, you're right." 

James couldn't help it, he found his hand in Q's curls before he knew that it was headed that way, gently pushing them from Q's forehead. "Why didn't you go to Medical, Q? You had to have known you were at risk for internal bleeding." 

"I would make a joke about how the blood is supposed to remain inside the body, but I don't think you're the right Double-Oh to make it to." The corner of Q's mouth was twitching slightly, and he looked altogether too tired for James to be able to excuse himself for intruding at that hour. "I wanted to find them, because if they knew of me, they'd know of all of you." 

James's thumb traced over Q's forehead, where a line of worry had cemented itself, and Q's eyes fluttered shut at the touch, the man relaxing beneath his gun-calloused hand. "Because we love you?" 

Q's eyes flashed open, "You don't love me, Bond. None of you can afford to. David can be my twin in soul; Thalia can be my protector...but none of you can love me. No, the threat is how much I love all of you. I am the weak link; this has always been the case. If there were a way to sever the ties and keep you all coming back? I would. I would go to ground to protect you...I doubt I could withstand what you can, when it comes down to it, and I would rather not be put in a position where I have to try." 

"I would make you promises for your safety, Q," James began softly, his voice falling into the musical tone of seduction as he stroked his thumb over Q's worry-line again. Talking so frankly about the possibility of Q being captured and tortured was enough to make his hackles rise, but he knew better than to let himself fall into the trap of Q, too, "but you'd never believe me to say that I would not rest until you were found and restored to us all. Suffice it for the sentiment that there is no Double-Oh that would withstand you being taken." 

Q's eyes were all too bright, all too knowing, and James had always felt that they got under his skin better than any others, which was precisely why he avoided them, "You would."


	6. All the Things That You Do In the Name of What You Love

Eve Moneypenny was slumped in a chair in the café nearest James’s flat, dark sunglasses in place, head in her hands, and a slight snarl on her lips in an attempt to ward the very world away. 

“I’d ask you how the hunt is going, but I know you’re not even telling Alec.” She growled without preamble as he slid as silently into the seat across from her as possible. 

“And what leads you to that conclusion?” James asked softly, wondering if he ought to be searching A&Es or obituaries for his best friend if Eve looked that rough and had presumably dragged Alec into it with her. 

“He’d just kill the fucker that did this.” Eve grumbled, managing to _sound_ nauseous without actually retching. 

“What makes everyone so sure I won’t?” 

Eve’s sunglasses were slowly pulled down her nose, the completely unimpressed look she shot him speaking volumes about how badly her head hurt, “Because you don’t know him.” She answered after a protracted moment, then slumped forward so that her head was hidden in her arm. 

“Someone has to keep a level head.” James retorted, though he honestly didn’t believe that’s what he’d been doing anymore. 

“In order to take him out should he be compromised, do you mean?” Eve asked pointedly, sitting up enough to steal James’s coffee and down half of it in two long swallows. 

“What would you call this but a liability, Miss Moneypenny?” 

“A foundation.” Eve grumbled, voice gone rough with the burn of the coffee. 

“Six is our foundation—“ 

“No, Six is our fucking drywall. _Q_ is our foundation. M was before him. Do you seriously think we’d all fall into a semblance of line without a head to our beast? Mallory kept him on after Silva because he knew that he couldn’t become the heart of Six after M; he kept Q on despite the inquest and the bloody politics of the thing because he knew M had put Q in place to keep us from crumbling under the weight of her dead body.” Eve pushed herself upright, and her sunnies had slid down far enough for her to quite effectively level him with a death-glare, “Why did _you_ stay?”


	7. You'll Never Know What a Fool I've Been

Q was asleep, propped up on his bed, with Thalia in a remarkably similar state as Moneypenny curled up to nap with her head on his thigh. 

David sighed as he tucked down the newspaper and regarded James without an ounce of courteous surprise. “Thali and Moneypants tried to ply Alec for information. He’s still getting his stomach pumped.” 

“Information on my hunt.” James surmised, “A hunt that, by rights, should fall to MI5.” 

“Q trusts no one more than he trusts you, you lazy git. Why, none of us know, but we’re all very put-out by it.” David snarled, “But in any case, if you fuck this up in any way, Bond—if you put that man at risk again—there are not words for the kinds of pain we will all put you through, so you’d best get off your arse conducting the investigation as if Q is the one at fault, and get to finding the bastards that strangled him to the point of unconsciousness, attempted to inject a paralytic into his neck, and tried to take him away from us.” 

“He killed—“ 

“He killed the ones that left the bruises. Even _you_ cannot stand there and tell me that that’s anywhere near _enough_.” 

James’s lip curled, “If it were anyone less, would it not be enough, MacArthur?” 

David let out a huff of breath, eyes rolling to the ceiling before he turned the full force of his contained violence in his gaze to focus on James. “What does it matter, if we can protect him, whether he is our weak spot or our greatest strength?” 

“He would never be pleased to be our weakness, and you know it.” James pointed out, voice soft and rough. 

“So you understand something…just not the right thing.” David whispered, eyes shining with the anger trapped up in a broken shell, unable to get free. 

“What is it I’m meant to understand here, 009?” James snapped, unmodulated enough that Thalia gave a small start on Q’s thigh. 

“He’s what holds us together, Bond. He brought together Q-Branch until it worked _as a unit_ , then he turned to us and saw that we needed somewhere safe; somewhere free of judgement and free of the fallout, so he made himself available to be that safe haven. And it’s your own fucking fault that you’ve never taken him up on the comfort of his friendship, you inexcusable wanker. You wouldn’t see past the end of your fucking nose to notice all he’s done for us—-all he’s bloody done _for you_.” 

“What would you have me do? What would you have me have done?” 

David scoffed, but it wasn't him that answered, "Firstly, I'd have you two shut the hell up: Q is not on the good drugs, and he's trying to heal." Thalia scolded somewhat muffledly. "Secondly, I'd have you actually complete your hunt, Bond, before Q gets released and is forced to go into custody in a safe-house. None of those are really safe, and I'd rather go to Tunisia tonight knowing that _he's protected_." 

James hadn't let the thought occur to him that Q would have to be put in a safe house until James's investigation and hunt had been completed, and he was loathe to think of the last "safe house" he'd been in. "Then get off your arse and call Moneypenny to help us find him a new flat." James replied smoothly. "Though whether we'll want to buy him new furniture to avoid the glitter situation I'll leave up to you." 

Q licked his lips, clearly somewhere between asleep and awake as his head lolled from turning his face to James back to Thalia, his eyes still closed as he mumbled, "Can't...afford a new..." 

Thalia's jade-green eyes flashed up to James, calculating, and then over to David. "I've never liked that building." David murmured softly, a growing smile on his lips. 

"You did just get a lovely hazard bonus...and I'm still sitting on my inheritance..." Thalia hummed. 

"You two are _not_ buying me a flat." Q scolded, sounding more awake, but not quite as bossy as he usually sounded. 

"No, of course not." David replied silkily, "Your Double-Ohs will pitch in and buy you a new flat, Quartermaster." 

" _My_ Double-Ohs? Fine, then you're all disowned; you can go into gadgetry exile with Bond." Q harrumphed. 

Thalia giggled, "Q, darling," the coaxing, smoky song of her voice was enough to draw Q's eyes open, and down to where she curled around him like a cat, "you give us so many gifts...let us give you this one?" 

Q's ears were bright red now, his unfocused eyes flashing a little dangerously as James watched David and Thalia try to coerce him into agreeing to accept a gift. "I give you what you need for the field--" 

"And a home-security system." David interjected. 

"A hand-knit mini-dress." 

"A tablet loaded for bear with anything an injured operative could want." James added softly. 

Thalia looked slightly proud of him for speaking up, and she shifted slightly so that Q could focus on her face without any strain, "You work yourself to the bone for us, and you bring us home, and you're not scared of us or intimidated by us, you just take care of us and let us be your friends," she leaned in and planted a lingering kiss to his forehead, "let us take care of you." 

"Consider yourself kissed by me, too." David rumbled, laughing, and Q coloured from the tips of his ears to his collarbones. 

"I won't presume to kiss you; I haven't even earned the right to a birthday invitation." James chuckled, but he realized that, seeing the closeness and the companionship of his normally-prickly colleagues, he did want to touch the boffin in some small way; just to feel him warm and alive even if he was horrifically bruised and battered. 

"You can't all just _pay_ \--" 

"Q, we get paid well to fail to survive for very long. I daresay that helping a friend get into a secure building that is actually maintained is the least-stupid investment I've ever considered making." David sighed. "You're not in the situation you're in through any fault of your own, Q. Let us help." 

Q's mouth pinched, and James almost _ached_ to know what it was David was referring to; what situation the Quartermaster of MI6 had been put into that his not-inconsiderable salary would not allow him to move from a building James had never seen, but was nonetheless beginning to find lacking. 

"Would this situation have any bearing on what happened, Q?" James asked softly, and Q threw a betrayed look in David's general direction. 

"No, the bastard's dead." David replied. Q did a double-take, his mouth falling open, and David shrugged, "Yeah, I checked up on the fucker that stole your life savings, abused you, and gave you a bloody eating disorder, Q. Unfortunately, he'd gotten himself into a bar brawl not long after you started working for Six, long before any of us could lay hands on him." 

Q took a shaking breath, and Thalia wrapped around him securely, but her eyes were bright with the revelation; this was something he hadn't shared with all the Double-Ohs, apparently. 

"I'm going to want this story one day," Thalia murmured, though whether she was addressing David or addressing Q, James couldn't tell.

James wanted this story as well, but he didn't put voice to his desire. 

James took out his own phone, texting Moneypenny the plan to look for a flat, and letting Alec know that there was a brewing plot for the Double-Oh division to buy Q a flat. 

Q looked decidedly exhausted, resigned to his fate, be that what it may, and though James had seriously considered leading his fellow Double-Ohs towards the higher-end of the real estate world his "death" had subjected him to, he reconsidered at the look of internalized disappointment on Q's face. 

"You two are evil." Alec groaned from the door behind Bond, stumbling slightly into the room pointing an accusatory finger at Thalia. "I hate you and Evie so much right now. I'd make a connection to temptresses, but...can't brain right now." Falling piteously into the chair beside Q's bed, Alec let out an impressive string of curses as his phone loudly went off, James's text arriving finally through the interference of the building. Alec blinked at it slowly several times, "Absolutely, let's buy Q a bloody flat. I do not like the way your landlord looks at you, luv; let's be real and honest and just know that you're liable, where you are now, to wake up one day in some sort of sex dungeon you did not fall asleep in." 

"He's seventy-three, and I'm fairly certain _I_ can benchpress more weight than he can." Q huffed. "You just don't like him because I made you help me fix the heat in the building." 

"And he looked at you like you were the sexiest thing since sliced bread...Shut up, I already said I can't brain today, I have the dumb."


	8. The Shoulder That You'd Wanna Cry On

James snuck into Medical as innocuously as possible, trying as hard as possible not to be caught by Nurse Gloria, the night nurse who made all the Double-Ohs quake in the proverbial boots. 

Q was alone in his room, sweetly asleep in his bed, and James found himself stopped dead just inside the door, losing his breath for a moment at the sudden hollowness he felt. Q was beautiful, young and fae in a way that defied all expectation; and James found himself taken in by the gentle curve of his eyelashes pooled against his cheeks, the beckoning crook of his lax fingers by his face, the burning flush of his impossibly lovely mouth. Q was angles and sweeping lines, and James found himself wanting to see how Q’s lines fit against his own. 

The slow, soft rise and fall of Q’s breathing caught, and Q flinched in his bed, tossing his head against the pillows Eve had informed him had been provided by Zinnia. Q let out a small sound, his features bunching as he kicked out against his blankets, and James was at his side, quietly calling his name, before he could consider anything else. He managed to keep his wits about him enough not to touch Q to try to wake him; his instinct to protect Q from whatever nightmare plagued him was concerning, though. 

Q’s grey-green eyes opened blindly, and he fought the blankets covering him—the blankets tucked too tight around him, feeling like bonds, James realized. “No, Q,” James murmured, reaching for the edge of the bed closest and pulling it free, “you’re safe. You have to stop moving, but you’re safe.” The thrashing slowed, Q blinking confusedly, and James gently laid a hand on Q’s shoulder, easing him to lay back against the pillows. “I’ve got you. You’re safe in Medical.” 

“Bond?” Q asked, and James picked up Q’s glasses, placing them in his hand so that Q could put them into place. The light was too low for Q to make him out if he were to stand close enough for his near-sightedness to focus; the pool of light from the half-open door cast over the end of the bed, but not reaching much else. “What happened?” 

“Someone tucked you into your bed a little too tightly.” James replied, “Do you feel like you’ve hurt yourself?”

Q blinked and swallowed, seeming, for the first time, to be in shock. He was distant in a way Q never was; tense. “My ribs hurt, but that happens if I take too deep a breath, too.” 

“I came to spring you, but now I think we may want to get you checked out fully again.” James murmured measuredly, his hand resting on Q’s calf. 

Q blinked up at him, looking confused still, but James simply smiled. “Why would you come to break me out?” 

“Technically, you are supposed to be released soon. Alec and I trust that about as far as you can throw us both without use of a gadget, knowing Medical’s penchant for swallowing people whole. So we agreed that you should come and stay with us while we get your new place and set it up.” 

“You live with Alec?” 

“Alec lives with me, more. I can manage to cook without being a fire hazard; Alec makes cereal and somehow it’ll explode. He keeps an apartment in the city, and he’s supposed to use it when he wants to bring someone home, but I’m not sure if he remembers where it is, because he keeps going to hotels we’ve been blacklisted from instead.” 

Q was laughing in whispers, one arm banded around his ribs as he did, smile bright despite the pain, “Is that why he’s been bribing Zinnia to come up with ridiculous aliases?”

“I would assume so.” 

“She…she’s been giving him…names like Jack Goff and Drew P. Cock.” Q managed, and James snorted into his own hushed laughter. 

“You’re kidding.” 

Q shook his head, wiping at his eyes, and James grinned. 

“I want in on coming up with those names.” 

“I’ll let Zinnia know.” Q giggled. 

As the silence laid out between them, James found himself immeasurably tempted to take liberties with touching the man who seemed so accepting of touches from everyone else. "Are you ready to get out of here?" 

Q looked around the room, then blinked up at him, "As much as I am, I'd say that we'd need some help to get all this out of here, too." 

"Help will be arriving in the form of Alec and Eve first thing tomorrow. Is there anything you want brought with us now?" 

Q looked around again, frowning slightly. "Do you have tea at your flat?" 

"I got Thalia to tell me what your favourites are before she boarded the plane for Tunisia." 

"Promise not to laugh at me?" Q asked suspiciously. James shrugged eloquently, and Q’s mouth twisted as he pulled up the quilt on top of the pile of thin blankets, and reached behind himself to pull what Bond had mistaken to be a pillow out from under his head. “Zinnia washed this guy and Peggy put a few drops of her perfume on him so that he wouldn’t smell of the hospital.” Q explained, damaged fingers idly petting the soft curls of the lamb stuffed animal. “And Mary made this for me. It was supposed to be a Christmas present.” 

The quilt was the thickest of the blankets, and James had no doubt it would prove to be the warmest as well. “I can promise you my flat won’t smell of hospital, but it may smell rather stale, so it’s a good idea to bring him. Does he have a name?” 

“Zinnia named him Wolf.” Q murmured, smile soft. James was careful as he gathered up the quilt, folding it neatly and laying it on the end of the bed before he turned to the duffle bag he’d smuggled in with him. 

“Now, Eve is the one that picked your clothes, so I take no responsibility here.” 

Q chuckled, sitting up with a small grunt of pain and reaching for the bag. He unzipped it to find a T-shirt nearly worn through, sporting what James took to be a cartoon of sentient fire above the legend “May all your bacon burn”, a pair of soft-looking blue jeans, and a threadbare sweatshirt that may once have been green, but was approximately eight sizes too big for Q. Q was beaming happily, so James filed the information away. 

“She and Thalia were suspiciously giggly while they were packing what they claimed were your essentials. Fair warning.” 

Q looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you…I don’t know how to thank you all enough.” Ducking his head back to look at the clothes as if they’d changed in his looking away, James got the sense that the affection and attention Q had been receiving was something Q had never expected, and had built into something that was threatening to make Q cry. 

James had been wondering how it came about that Q had no birthday; how it was that Q, so strong and sure of himself, had fallen prey to an abusive bastard; how it was that Q could profess to love someone, but keep himself from trying for happiness when, compared to James, he had little threat of that happiness slipping away. Looking at Q in the darkness of his Medical room, James was shocked that he hadn’t put the pieces together sooner: Q was the immovable object, the steadfast anchor. He was the one that had been abandoned; the one that had been there for everyone, but expected no one to return that care and regard. James reached for Q’s fidgeting fingers, giving a gentle squeeze, “Let’s get you dressed and get you home.”


	9. I Try to Pin You Down, But You Move Like a Dream

It was slow going, and Q seemed somewhat surprised by the pain of it as he and James had made their way out of Medical and towards the car park. 

“I didn’t feel this bad even getting back here after.” 

“Adrenaline will do that. Shock, too.” James hummed, taking Q’s weight. “How did you get back here?” Remembering what Q had looked like, James had wondered how it was Q had managed to get back to Six without anyone intervening. He’d done it himself, admittedly, but Q did not have quite the same air of violence that James tended to employ when people started paying too much attention to the bleeding man in the back of their cab. 

“Hot-wired a car.” Q barked a laugh, shaking his head. He was limping slightly, and James remembered how tall he’d stood in Q-Branch, still covered in his own and others’ blood. 

“Are you more injured than Medical first—“ 

“A shard of glass made its way into my shoe. I didn’t realize until my shoes were removed. It’s just an inconvenient cut, nothing more.” 

“Should I steal a wheelchair?” James offered, though they were halfway to the car park. 

“Sorry I’m moving so slow, but I’d rather not have to deal with a wheelchair.” 

James pasted on a pout, “It would be the one time I could push you around.” 

Q broke into laughter, the sound husky and breathier than normal as he cringed at the pain. 

"I'm sorry, I won't make you laugh anymore." James was grinning around his promise, and Q threw him a look describing in detail just what he thought of that. 

James took as much of Q's weight as the man would allow, helping Q into the passenger seat before stowing the duffle in the boot and giving a little wave to the CCTV camera he knew Mary would be erasing for him later. He was, after all, kidnapping the Quartermaster of MI6...just with the man's permission. 

"Have you managed to rest at all?" 

"Mm, no." Q hummed, his head already tilted back on the seat and his eyes closed. "Bits and pieces here and there. Not very restful." 

"R's agreed to wipe every trace of you and I leaving together. I've cleared Q-Branch from having any involvement with what happened, but I need to be sure." 

"It was all very convenient." Q told him as if in agreement, "First time I'd left in two days, and they picked me up within a block of my apartment." 

"They were prepared." James murmured. 

"Thankfully, so was I." 

James's lips quirked on a small smile as he drove through the mostly-deserted streets of London at four in the morning. He reached over the gearshift to Q's hand, laying limp under the frayed cuffs of his sweatshirt, and when his fingers met Q's skin, Q's breath stuttered slightly, but his grip was firm. 

"We know that this is connected to the Cannes mission..."

"I knew it was too easy." Q grumbled, "You didn't even have the chance to blow anything up." 

James let out a huff of a laugh, though talking about what had led to Q's attempted kidnapping put him on-edge as he'd rarely been before. "Talking to R, she confirmed that I wasn't made, but that would leave the possibility that that virus you built somehow led them to you." Q was shaking his head, eyes open now and staring, unseeing, into the dregs of morning. "What?" 

"There's another possibility." Q sounded strained, his fingers gently squeezing James's, "I'd need my laptop to prove it one way or the other, though." 

"What is it?" 

"The reason I was recruited. I was data mining and dumping information directly to MI6's servers about the very people you've hunted, long before I was ever hired." 

"You think they caught up to you from an old hack?" 

Q nodded slowly, "I planted worms in things I knew weren't on the up-and-up. The organization of our friends in Cannes was one of them. When you got the mission, I activated the worm to data dump so that I could get onto their communications, their surveillance--everything. They'd had upgrades to their system since I'd planted the worm...I think whoever upgraded them is the one that found my program, and sent them for me." 

"You...I was _sent in_ to upload a virus--" 

"My worm wasn't on the same system that we needed to get into, and it was old: I might've been able to patch it to brute-force its way in, but they would have known we were there." 

"Instead, they knew you were on the other system." James couldn't help the growl of disapproval at that; the question of why Q would activate something like that seemingly inconsequential. 

"I had to make sure I could guide you through." Q replied simply. James glanced over to him as he pulled into a parking spot. 

"So you used an illegal hack to get into their systems." Q blinked from staring out of the front windscreen, looking down to his lap and flexing his fingers as James released him to put the car into park. 

"The inquest into that hack--" 

"You didn't get caught using the hack." James murmured, with the assurance of someone who knew Six's bureaucracy well enough to know that it was true, "Not by Six. There isn't going to be an inquest." 

Q blinked again, looking over at him at last. "Then how did they find me?" 

"They must have made me in Cannes." James replied evenly, "I hate it when they do that." 

"You _will not_ shoulder the blame for this one, James." 

James tilted his head, a hint of a smile on his lips at the thought that Q could do anything to stop him, "D'you know...I think that's the first time you've called me James."


	10. I'm Not the Man I Used to be Lately

Getting Q fed real food instead of the biohazard they tried to feed people in Medical, then set up in bed was taken care of before Alec made a groggy appearance at ten in the morning. That Alec immediately stuck his head in Q's room like an over-excited child getting a peek at the new baby was of little surprise, but was a bit disappointing, and James rolled his eyes. "He's cute when he's sleeping." Alec stage-whispered as he shuffled towards the coffee. 

"He'd kill you if he heard that." James muttered, shaking his head at his best friend, "I may have to go to Prague." 

"Are you finally ready to salt-and-burn?" 

"Not all of Prague, but I do intend to kill the fuckers who sent the kidnappers, yes." James took a leisurely swallow of coffee, eyes still firmly on the paper as Alec poked at the remnants of the bacon and pancakes James had made. 

"Mallory wanted them captured for what they did to Q, and if memory serves, he was after the information of who they're dealing weapons to." 

James folded his paper slightly and put on a pout that had Alec choking on a piece of bacon in his laughter. 

"I want to see if we can't arrange a bodyguard system for the brains of the operation." James muttered, turning his attention back to his paper as Alec flipped him off for the choking hazard. 

"A Double-Oh on-duty?" Alec confirmed after a long draught of coffee. 

"Is there anyone...besides myself...who Q is not comfortable with in the Programme?" 

"No, and he's not uncomfortable with you, you git; you're just too bloody thick to realize he's a friend." 

"I've had very few friends over the years, Alec. One shot me, one ordered me shot, one gets shot regularly. I'd hate to include Q in our never-ending cycle of bloodshed and pain." 

Alec snorted, shaking his head, "I get shot a lot less now, you know, and he's the reason why." 

James folded his paper and set it fully aside, regarding his old friend, "What happens when he can't save you, Alec? What happens when you're too slow, or too old, and you fail to come back to him? Do you honestly think that your friendship with him is what would be best for him in the long run?" 

Dragging in a deep breath, Alec met James's gaze, "Do you honestly think that he loves you any less because you've refused his friendship, James? 005 was in deep-cover even before Q became Quartermaster. And when it all fell apart, it made no difference." 

"He hasn't lost anyone but 005, Alec." 

"No, but do you know what he did to retrieve Peggy last year?" 

James blinked. He knew that Peggy had been taken captive by a Mexican cartel with a reputation for torture and brutality that made the Inquisition seem like a tickle, but by the time he'd gotten back from Syria, Peggy had been restored home and on the mend. 

"For seventy-three hours, Q didn't sleep or rest. He scrambled half a bloody army of militia who'd been trying to beat the cartel, and overloaded the power supply to the compound until some idiot plugged in a bloody toaster and the whole place went boom." 

James was oddly glad he was sitting down; able to picture it easily, because he'd gotten glimpses of Q at work many times before; had watched him pull agents from both the frying pan and the fire, and had respected him for it, however distantly, when he rained that fire down on the heads of whoever would have seen their operative fail. 

"He was called into an inquest for it. Would have lost his job if he wasn't so damn good." 

"After...After he lost 005, he--" 

"He brought her home. He worked for two days to get teams to sift through the rubble of that building, and he did not leave the comm. That was when I knew that I could trust him; that I could like him. He is in our corner, James, for every fight, but maybe especially for the ones we lose. Surely you've realized that." 

James raked his memories of the days following 005’s loss, and the haunted look in Q’s eye when he had come in to check-in, that he had mistaken for shock bourn of inexperience, but now recoloured itself as a honest grief. 

“I like this idea of yours, though. Double-Oh guard duty would certainly make me feel better.” 

The Double-Ohs were rarely given long term assignments, and there was always at least two on home soil at all times; with the devotion to his health and happiness each of the Double-Ohs had displayed already, to put in place a protective detail would be as simple as sending a group-text. 

“Did you pick up his medications?” Alec asked, sounding more like a mother-hen than James would ever care to have heard. 

“I got the list. Chemist’s was closed when I picked him up, and I’ve yet to go back out.” 

“I’ll get them while Moneypants and I clear out his hospital room. Will you be here for the duration?” 

James met the pale grey gaze of his best friend, “He won’t be alone.”


	11. Blood as Red and Sweet as Cherry Wine

The apartment was not what Q would look for in a place, James knew as he set foot in the building, let alone the set of rooms. 

Beside him, Eve stiffened subtly, her manner shifting into a mirror image of what it had been in Q’s actual apartment, and with a simple shake of his head to his estate agent, they left. 

“God, I wish I could have killed the fucker.” Eve growled as James led them back to the car. 

“The leering landlord, or…?”

“Q’s bloody ex.” 

“You know that story.” James surmised softly. “David mentioned it…I was curious.” 

Eve looked about as pleased as a cat that had been stuffed into a sack. “I don’t know the full story—I don’t think anyone but Q does. I just know that Q nearly died.” 

James glanced at her as he pulled into traffic, but chose not to press. 

“Q—he’s rail bloody thin, but he eats—“

“Enough food to ballast a battleship.” James supplied softly when Eve seemed to stall. 

She laughed, sounding almost teary as she did, “Exactly! But this…this bastard of a man…he—“ 

Eve had cut off again, but enough had been let-slip that James could piece it together, “Q starved himself.” 

“To the point that deprivation is still a bloody problem.” Eve practically growled, voice at once both soft and incredibly dangerous. 

“Sleep deprivation…” James began the list, hoping for and receiving his puzzle pieces. 

“He won’t eat while he’s working. He’s given me the excuse that he hasn’t earned the time away when he’s sick. He won’t give himself the simple creature comforts that make him happy unless he’s found a reason that he’s worthy of comforts. Q’s a bloody hedonist most of the time…but the spirals, Bond. If he misses one step…” 

“Has Psych gotten ahold of him?” James asked, feeling somewhat as though he was betraying Q just to ask. 

“He’s even better at dodging them than you are.” Eve scoffed. She turned fully to him as he negotiated London traffic, “He’s living with you right now?” James hummed the affirmative, and Eve licked her lips, preparing herself to ask him the favour, “I’ve no right to ask this of you…but please, Bond—“

“He will not go wanting under my roof, Eve.” James’s voice was pure steel, and Eve relaxed infinitesimally. “While I can take care of him, I won’t let him go without.” 

Eve nodded, swallowing, and James felt a little more at ease to know, in even small part, what he was going up against. “There’s one more thing you need to know, then, Bond: Q is…he was abandoned, and then abused. He won’t trust it, would cut his own tongue out before he asks for it, but he needs to be touched.” 

“The abuse…” James began, and had to swallow down the burn of rage from the back of his throat, “he won’t trust being touched, will he?” 

It was the best explanation for why Moneypenny would bring it up; the abandonment alone would be reason enough to need affection; to compound it with a relationship as toxic as it seemed to be was, even to James, overkill. “You have to earn it not to reach out to him and have him flinch.” Eve sounded tired and sad in a way that James felt to his bones. 

“What would you recommend?” 

Eve was quiet for a long while, contemplative as James pulled up to the next apartment block on their tour of London real estate. “Don’t startle him. Make sure he’s always warm enough. And don’t touch his hair until he trusts you. I don’t know all of what happened, but I know that the last attack was bad…I think the bastard pulled Q’s hair hard enough to take some scalp with him.” 

James lost his breath for a minute at the implication of that. He’d touched Q’s hair without flinching; had been touching Q without any sign of the trepidation Eve had described. The ridiculous length and tumult of curls would easily hide any scar that Q would have bourn, and the teasing James gave him about it now felt like ash on his tongue. James was gripping the steering wheel hard enough that the leather beneath his hands protested, despite the fact that they had parked, and Moneypenny looked over at him, disconsolate and understanding in equal measure. 

“He died bloody…but as far as I’m concerned, not bloody enough.”


	12. It's Really Nice, but You Don't Understand

"Why am I not surprised that you're typing with two broken fingers?" James asked in an amused huff. 

The scene was all too domestic: Q sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop, James preparing dinner. That Q still looked as if he'd been hit by a train and James was still wearing an ankle holster could be overlooked, James thought. 

“I’ve had worse injuries to my hands.” Q shrugged. 

“Accidents in the lab?” James asked, pausing slightly as he remembered watching Q’s long fingers working at his hands as if trying to squeeze out the ache from tired muscles. 

“Among other things…” Q murmured, half-hiding beneath the flop of his hair as his typing slowed. “What have Moneypenny and David told you…?” 

“Eve told me she had a suspicion that you’d lost some of that gorgeous hair, but now I get the feeling there’s more to it than that.” 

Q’s breath caught, his hands flinching slightly; a false-start before he raised one to his scalp, clearly feeling the ridge of scar. “It’s still there.” James crossed to him, and when he was close enough, Q reached for one of his hands, leading his fingers to the snarl without a qualm. "He dragged me by my hair, slammed my hands in one of the kitchen drawers to try to stop me from being able to work--to get away." Q told him quietly, one hand still on James's, tangled in his hair, the other--the broken one--shaking slightly on his lap. 

James didn't pull away, though he found himself wanting to, in the hopes it would stop Q's hand from shaking. Instead, with gentle pressure, he stroked a touch around the furrow of healed skin, and bent to press a kiss to the hair hiding it from sight. Q's hand slid from his to curve around his wrist, and James could hear the breath punch from his chest in a way that had to be painful, even without bruised and cracked ribs. "May I?" James asked softly, arching his other arm open make it clear that he wanted to hug Q, if Q could manage it, and Q let out a tiny sound, leaning into his chest. Q's ear was fit over his heart where James stood and Q sat, and James could feel Q's fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as though trying to anchor himself against whatever undertow of thoughts and memories threatened to pull him away. 

"I'm sorry." Q mumbled. His eyes were dry, but James got the sense that that was only the case because Q had long ago shored himself up against the memories. 

"You've nothing to be sorry for." James replied evenly, voice low and gentle in a way it hadn't been for years. 

"You've been through worse." Q pointed out. 

James swallowed, considering his next words carefully while he kept a tight hold of Q, "I think that betrayal...that pain--there is no worse, just differing shades of the same blackness." 

Q shivered, and James moved his hand from Q's hair, rubbing over his shoulders instead. 

Q's fingers slowly untangled from James's shirt, his body relaxing in James's grip. "Do you want to talk about it?" James asked as Q released him, and he moved away only far enough to see Q's face. 

"Do I want to? No. Should I? Probably." Q sounded strained, and James huffed a small laugh, stroking his thumb over the pained pinch at the corner of Q's eye. 

"If you ever do perfect time-travel, don't tell any of us." James murmured, eyes tracking over Q's features as his lashes fluttered closed and he let out a sigh under James's hand. 

Q opened his eyes, looking achingly tired, but there was no question in their stormy depths as to what James meant, "Even you?" 

James pressed another kiss to Q's forehead, "Perhaps especially me."


	13. Willing to Take the Risk

Alec, Q, and a rather banged-up Peggy were bunched up together on James's couch when he arrived home from Prague. James found something tense in his gut going lax as Q smiled at him from between two highly-trained assassins. 

"Zinnia asked me to say thank you on her behalf." Q told him as soon as the movie was paused, and James chuckled, "R wanted to know why you'll behave for me, and for Zinni, but won't work with anyone else." 

"I only behaved for Zinnia because I couldn't have you." James replied, grunting slightly as he slipped his coat over his wrenched shoulder. "But I will say that you've done well, training her." 

Q's smile was still in place, but his eyes were raking over James's body as he moved towards the kitchen, hoping that there was something in there that could quickly be made edible. "Mission accomplished?" Peggy asked, voice slightly thick with a caramel-laden ice cream she was using to ice a particularly colourful bruise on her jaw from the inside, if James wasn't mistaken. 

"Yes. They were after Q as a hacker, not as the Quartermaster of MI6." James replied tiredly. 

"I don't know if that's good news or not." Alec mused, "There's pizza. I'm not allowed to even help Q in the kitchen anymore." 

"You managed to somehow nearly cut off the pads of both your thumbs, Trevelyan. I am glad Q opted for pizza; I was not looking forward to fingerprint soup." 

James wrinkled his nose, caught between teasing Alec mercilessly and simply being thankful that more damage hadn't been done. His kitchen looked relatively unscathed, which was good. The pizza lying open on the counter smelled delicious, but wasn't from anywhere James had tried before. "Basil, garlic, and fresh mozzarella." Q told him softly, padding into the kitchen behind him. "Simple, easy comfort food." 

"Lame!" Alec shouted, then yelped as Peggy pinched him hard. "Fine, it was tasty!"

"It smells wonderful." James murmured, folding a piece of the thin crust in one hand, "How are you doing?" James asked solicitously, leaning against the counter as Q moved to prepare himself a cup of tea. 

"I'm healing nicely." Q replied quietly, leaning beside James while he waited for the water boil. 

James looked at him carefully, nodding his agreement to that assessment. 

"What happened to your arm?" Q asked softly. 

"I had to catch myself from falling out of a moving train." Q hissed at his response, straightening and reaching for his shoulder. "It's just sore." 

"You're lucky you're not broken." Q scolded gently, fingers careful in feeling for the damage to James's shoulder. 

"It's fine. I'll take it easy for the next few days." 

"I'll hold you to that." Q murmured as though it were a threat, and James grinned. "We're watching children's movies that ought not to actually be children's movies." 

" _Coraline_ deserves a place on your scary-movie list with Moneypants." Peggy shuddered dramatically, and Q chuckled. 

James shifted around Q to take the kettle from the heat as it built into a whistle, and Q hissed, his hands moving to James's back, "You're bleeding." 

The shift of fabric under Q's hands was enough to tug on the drying blood, and James winced slightly as he felt it. "It's not bad." 

"James," Q sighed, taking James's wrist and leading him into the bathroom. Q crouched to get the first-aid kit, and James gave a sigh of his own as he stripped off his shirt, the fade of his adrenaline bringing into stark relief just how tired and sore he was. Q straightened, and James only barely managed not to flinch as Q's cool hands touched his skin. "Do I need to worry about tetanus?" 

"I've had my shots." 

Q sighed again, his hand steady but impossibly gentle on James’s back, “Knife slash?” 

“Mmm,” James hummed in the affirmative, “I moved, or it would have been a stab wound.”

Q hissed, his wince flashing behind James’s back, but visible in the mirror. “I’ve been thinking about trying to make some body armour. Ultra-thin, ultra-light. Bulletproof…” Q commentary trailed off as he carefully pressed a wad of antibacterial-soaked cotton pads to the edges of the wound, flinching slightly as James hissed at the sting. 

“I’d say that sounds too good to be true…but I do know better than to say that to you.” James muttered, watching Q in the reflection as he meticulously cleaned the cut. 

“Finally, you’re learning.” Q teased, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes as he tended to the injury. “It still hasn’t stopped bleeding.” 

“Peggy?” James called. 

“Yes, dear?” Peggy asked, appearing a little too quickly for her not to have been lurking. 

“Could you give us a stitch? Q’s hands are cold enough to be trembling and apparently Alec’s all thumbs tonight.” 

Peggy clucked, “Q, darling, how the hell do you manage to get so cold?” 

“It’s lack of a heart, I’ve been told.” Q replied sardonically, moving to sit on the closed lid of the loo instead of leaving James in Peggy’s hands. 

“What do you think you’re doing, then?” Peggy asked, hand on her hip. 

“Making sure you don’t put a stitch into him in the shape of a lightning bolt.” Q replied with aplomb, and James laughed. 

“You’re not even on-duty and you’re saving his skin, huh?” Peggy cooed, grabbing out the sutures and moving to kneel on the towel Q folded neatly into place for her so that James didn’t have to bend and she didn’t have to stoop in order to reach the cut just under his ribs. 

“If you recall, I wasn’t on duty when I reset your arm, either.” Q replied dryly. 

James winced; snapping bones back into place was never a pleasant business, and with how much Q pestered him—pestered them all—to go to Medical, he had to assume Q likely found it even more distasteful. 

“Your shoulder is beginning to bloom a rather lovely bruise.” Q commented, staring at James’s reflection. 

“Sure you don’t want to shower before I stitch you?” Peggy asked, and James didn’t have to see her to know that there was mischief in her eyes, because it may not have occurred to Q until it was too late that fresh stitches weren’t meant to get wet. 

“We’ll tape it down. There’s cling-wrap in the kitchen.” Q had a hint of a smile, and James found himself matching. 

Peggy made quick work of the stitches, and slid out smoothly, leaving the two of them there. James turned, offering his hand out to Q and helping him to his feet, but keeping his hand. James smoothly caught the other one as well, his hands bleeding warmth into Q’s despite the fact that he’d spent the last few minutes with his shirt off, and Q looked to be in several layers. 

“Are you always so cold, Q? Q-Branch can’t be good for you if you are.” 

Q shivered as James carefully rubbed at his hands, the birdlike bones so easily broken, though James would rather drag himself over broken glass than ever see those hands hurt again. With two of Q’s fingers now properly splinted together with medical tape instead of electrical, it reminded James all over of what rage had driven him as he’d hunted those responsible. James wanted to draw the back of Q’s hand to his lips, but he refrained, instead freeing one of his hands to push back Q’s fringe. “I tend to move around enough in Q-Branch to be getting on with.” 

“Is that other sweatshirt in the wash?” 

Q nodded, “Alec bled on it.” He murmured, wrinkling his nose. 

“Take one of mine, they should be large enough to fit over all these layers.” James tugged on the hem of the topmost of Q’s layers, and Q’s ears coloured. “Bottom drawer, left-hand side. The navy blue one is particularly warm.” 

“Let’s cover those stitches first.” Q murmured, his eyes dark and unwilling to meet James’s. The colour quickly spreading from his ears to his cheeks was enough to tell James that it wasn’t quite discomfort that was keeping Q from meeting his gaze. 

James let his own gaze sweep over the soft pink of Q’s lower lip, and found he didn’t mind the idea of Q wanting him. Not in the least.


	14. Fire That Comes and Stays Fire

Q moved as though in a trance; lips parted and eyes wide as he took in the apartment. 

“You…I can’t—“ 

“I believe we went over this, Quartermaster.” David chided teasingly, coming to stand beside Bond to watch as Q wandered through the open floorplan, taking in the exposed brick in the high ceilings and the wood floors. 

When James had gone to Q's flat with Eve and Thalia to pick up Q's necessities, he'd been struck by the many touches Q had used to try to make it feel homier. Reconciling what James had learned of the man, and what he had seen of Q's living situation, James had immediately been able to see Q's posters in the sunlight of this place; had been able to tell that the old, weathered, almost medieval-looking dining room table and chairs would fit with the hand-scraped wood floors; and had seen Q able to create a space for them all within his space. 

"I could never..." 

"Yes, you could." David replied, "Given another three years, you would have enough saved to afford to buy this flat for yourself, but for our peace of mind--what little mind we collectively have left--please, Q: Marc and I live literally a block away, this place is more than willing to let you install your own security system, and it's close to Six." 

None of the Double-Ohs had yet told Q that they were setting up a roster to basically bodyguard him whenever they were in the city. James half-hoped that he'd be the first one on the roster for the first time they'd escort him, but he half-hoped that it wouldn't be him facing Q's wrath head-on as well. Whoever it was, he'd have to plant the idea in others' heads to pressure them into filming it. 

"This is happening one way or the other, Q: just be glad we're giving you some small choice in the matter." Eve muttered from where she stood with the estate agent, ready to sign the papers. "Does it meet with your approval, such as it is?" 

Q let out a bit of a squeak, and James and David both nodded for him. Wandering to Q's side, James turned his gaze to the window, "I'll have Zinnia and Mary organize the minions to come in to help set up." He murmured. 

Q was deathly still, his jaw set as he stared out the window, "You shouldn't do this--none of you. It's...I can't--" 

"Q," James coaxed, turning to the man and waiting until Q turned, however reluctantly, to face him, "if Peggy had been taken advantage of; had been mistreated and abused, and was suffering the consequences of that on her own, would you not step in?" 

"This is rather more than stepping in, James! My flat--" 

"If it were me. In an unsecured building, vulnerable to everything you and I are vulnerable to, what would you do?" 

Q subsided, his hands fluttering slightly before he stuffed them firmly in his pockets, "That's not the same," he whispered, "and one of the MI6 safe houses would do me--" 

"No," James contradicted, "it wouldn't. If it weren't for the fact that MI5 would be outraged, I'd shoot the man who deemed those safe houses "safe", British national or not." 

Q hiccoughed a laugh, ducking James's gaze as much as he could and shifting uncomfortably. "I don't like...owing people things." 

"You're not in debt to us. This is, after all, as much for us as it is for you. It wasn't hyperbole when David said this would give us better peace of mind." 

"You're spending--" 

"I've always thought time was more valuable than money." James interrupted conversationally, "And I've wasted a lot of valuable time that would better have been spent on you." 

Q finally looked up, reading his features with those damnable green-grey eyes, and he thinned his lips at what he saw. "You oughtn't waste your money in some attempt to make it up." 

"Your safety and wellbeing _will never be a waste_ , Quartermaster." James whispered, voice edging towards harshness with his vehemence. He pressed into Q's space, but Q did not back away, tilting his head up further to continue to stare into James's features, searching for something James could only hope he'd find. 

"I would accuse you of unnecessarily taking care of me..." 

"I would remind you of your promising career in espionage, and what you're prepared to do to take care of me." James replied smoothly. "I understand...that you don't trust it. You don't know what to make of us taking care of you. I understand, perhaps, better than the others; because what we're doing for you now is much like what you do for us, and I've only just learned the breadth of what you'd go through. But, Q...as you do all that you do to take care of the rest of us, we're stepping up for you now. We have no expectation of being repaid; no want for anything more than what you already freely give. All we want--All I want...is to know that you are safe, and happy." 

Q's breath caught, the sound of it very nearly a tipping into a sob, and James shifted, wrapping one arm around Q's shoulders, tucking him neatly against his side. Q leaned into him, his cheek rubbing at the wool of his suit jacket, as he raised his eyes slowly to meet James's gaze. Q's eyes were dangerously close to filling, and James wanted desperately for them to be alone in the flat; wanted to let Q come to those tears, and help him through them if he could. 

Q rested his head in the cradle of James's shoulder, looping one arm around James's waist. Q ducked his head against James's chest, and James took that opportunity to press a kiss to Q's curls.


	15. A Little Unsteady

"I-I'm sorry, but I don't think today is going to be a good day. Excuse me." Q managed, looking nearly grey as he stood from his place and fled. James looked down at the plate of food he'd just placed in front of Q: two poached eggs, toast, and asparagus sitting innocently on the plate, looking rather appetising, if James could say so himself. The curl of steam still rising off of Q's mug caught James's attention immediately, and James felt something like dread settle into his stomach. 

Q was not malnourished, precisely, but Medical had noted signs that he had been in the past, and that his diet needed a little beefing up--as the Quartermaster did. James had been doing his best to sneak in as much nutrition into Q's diet as Q would allow, and Q had ravenously eaten everything James had put in front of him. But David's words still hung heavy in the back of James's mind: _the fucker that stole your life savings, abused you, and gave you a bloody eating disorder_. James had yet to broach the topic of the disorder with Q or the others, and he sincerely hoped that he wouldn't have to yet.

"Q?" James called, moving to stand outside Q's bedroom door, "Are you in pain?" 

The healing process for ribs was arduous at best, James knew from long experience, and James could only hope that perhaps it was a bad pain-day. 

With no response, James let himself into the unlocked bedroom, Q's cloud of hair just barely visible where he sat on the floor by the other side of the bed. James moved silently, sliding to the ground beside Q with an overplayed groan, "I am too old for floor-sitting, you know." James murmured, the line of Q's body fit neatly against the line of his. Q took a slow, deep breath, and James reached out his hand, palm-up, in offer. Q's hand slid into his naturally, and James intertwined their fingers, his thumb rubbing gently at the tender curve of flesh beneath Q's own thumb. 

"I grew up in and out of foster homes and orphanages," Q's voice was small and strained over the words, and James didn't let himself react in any way, "I was...unlucky. It's the stereotypical story of an orphan: a couple that took me in as an infant were working to finalize the adoption...when they got pregnant, and didn't need me anymore." There was a click in Q's throat as he swallowed, and James held still, waiting, because as much as he didn't want to hear what he knew was coming, he knew that Q needed to get it out. "I was always able to...fix things. I always fiddled. I was ten when one of the volunteer carers brought an old computer, with some learning games and the like. I fixed it...made it work better, faster. 

"I got a job in an internet café when I was sixteen...and my manager there put me into uni a year later. At first, I kept working there...but the owner sacked my manager, and I left with her." Q took another deep breath, toying with James's fingers. "His name was Professor Michael Anderson, and he taught mathematics." 

James's breath left him. He'd known it would be bad, whatever it was, but somehow the betrayal seemed so much worse. 

"At first, of course, we had to hide the affair. I'd never...I'd never really been wanted before." James forced himself to keep his eyes on their hands, as if there was a physical pressure to his gaze, and it would stop Q's words in their tracks. "He-He made it feel like we were always stealing time. Like we were always desperate and about to be caught. More and more, I spent all the time I had with him, until he was the only relationship I kept up with." Q swallowed thickly, his fingers stuttering in their movements tracing the lines of James's palm. "When we were no longer teacher and pupil, he encouraged me to give up my job and focus on earning my degree; promised that he would take care of me while I did..." 

James was struck by the notion of what thoughts had to have been going through Q's mind at the Double-Ohs' insistence that they take care of him; if there had been parallels there that had felt a little too close. 

"I...I've never liked to ask for things. At first, I didn't have to. But then, it was almost as though...he got distracted. Like he had forgotten to pick up tea with the shopping, or get enough bread for the both of us. So, I started...limiting my portions, and using my savings to pick up the slack when I could without him knowing." James felt cold, sitting there. He wanted to pull Q into his arms; wanted to erase the memory; wanted to resurrect Professor Michael Anderson, and put him through a Hell of his own devising. "When he found out--" Q let out a choke of a laugh, shaking his head, "He'd timed it right. I'd used almost all my savings, I was considering just going back to work for a while...I was bored, with the degree, and I thought I could use some time away anyway. But when I told him, he threw an almighty tantrum that I didn't think he was taking good enough care of me; and when he found out I'd been using the money to eat more, he said that I was fat enough that he was starting not to want me anymore, anyway." 

Q was very subtly trembling, and James finally allowed himself to catch Q's fingers in both hands, cupping them gently and bleeding warmth into them as Q fought for breath or for words. "I...I stopped eating. I _knew_ it was wrong, I knew I was being a _fool_ , but every time I went to eat, I remembered the look of disgust on his face--on the face of the _only person who'd ever wanted me_ \--and I couldn't..." James took a deep breath this time, shifting slightly, and looping his arm around Q's shoulders, tucking him neatly against James's side. "I...I'm better. I almost never have bad days...but..."

"But?" James coaxed gently. 

"I've been having nightmares." Q breathed, "I...I never checked up on him, after he'd left. I didn't know that he was dead. It didn't matter--I'd disappeared. But between the injuries and...the memories," Q subsided, shaking his head and pulling into himself. 

James allowed himself to press a lingering kiss to Q's hair, pulling Q into him all the tighter and letting the sadness wash over him. There were no tears for Q to shed; no vengeance to be had. James found that there was nothing he could rightly offer Q but whatever solace Q could build himself from James's love and support. "You don't have to face your nightmares alone." James murmured into his ear at last, and Q sighed, the last of the tension draining from him. 

"Yes, I do." Q contradicted, hand skimming up to rest on James's shoulder, the space put between them somehow colder than it had any right to be. "You have your own demons to deal with, James, you needn't deal with mine as well." Q's gaze was interminably sad; sweeping over James's face in a way that felt like a touch, "David knows the fallout; not the story. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him...that I still sometimes have bad days?" The words curled up into a question, and James wanted to pull Q into him completely at the insecurity pinching the other man's lips. 

"May I ask a favour, Q?" James requested softly. Q looked at him fully now, and there was some terror in his eyes, "Will you tell me when you have bad days?" 

There was nothing that James thought he could ever do about them; no magical cure he thought would work. But James couldn't help feeling that if he knew, it would somehow make it better. 

Q nodded shakily, licking his lips, and he shifted hesitantly away, colour building in his ears. "I'm sorry...you shouldn't've had to sit here--" 

"I would go through much worse for you, Q. I want to know you--I'm sorry it's taken me so long to finally admit that. Anything you'd tell me, Q, I would be more than happy to listen to," James managed a small smile as his heart ached in his chest, "no matter how uncomfortable the setting."


	16. If I Shed a Tear, I Won't Cage It

The silence of James's flat pressed in on him as he took a seat next to the chair that had become Q's usual spot. 

"You know, it's been a while since you last kissed me, mate." Alec had pouted as they'd finished up moving Q's things into his new flat. 

James had ignored him, but the reality was catching up to him as he sat in his apartment alone for the first time in weeks. There was no patter of keys; no lilting hum of whatever song Q had stuck in his head. The loneliness was suffocating. 

And James could admit, if only to himself, that he'd been taking liberties in his affection for the Quartermaster. He touched the man as if he had any right to, when he'd only just learned the shape of who Q really was and what all he did. He'd pressed kisses into the man's tumult of hair, he'd taken to massaging Q's hands when they began to ache, and it wasn't uncommon for the two of them to fall asleep together on the couch. James now knew more than any of the other agents. He had gone from the careful safety of separation to falling headlong into the enigma of Q. 

James could admit to himself that he’d fallen in love with Q. It was an admittance no one else needed him to make, because he’d been shamefully obvious about it, he knew. But the fact of the matter remained that, even if Q was interested in him physically, it wasn't likely Q would welcome an advance. 

Q did not date spies; had someone he was already interested in; and had been very badly burned by his last relationship. James had to internalize this: had to get it through his head that, like Q and his flings, James would only ever be able to take what little ground Q had already given him, and ought never to dare to ask for anything more. 

It was far too precious, this new affection. The safety of Q's steady care. The companionship of his laughter. 

Feeling as though he'd taken more liberties than he'd had any right to, James found himself with a familiar bottle and a glass in-hand. James stopped dead, staring at the amber liquid for a moment as he considered. 

With Q's safety on his shoulders as he'd stayed under James's roof, James had not even thought of having a drink. Now, feeling more alone that he'd let himself feel for a very long time, James had reached for the scotch before anything else. 

_"James?"_ Q answered his call on the first ring, sounding terribly startled. James stalled; he had no real reason to call his Quartermaster, not when he needed to try to distance himself from how much he wanted far more than Q could give him. _"I-I was about to call you."_

"Is everything alright?" James asked, voice going soft. 

_"Yes..."_

"What would you like me to bring for dinner?" James asked smoothly, the instinct he'd cultivated of knowing when Q needed something he wasn't comfortable to ask for not lessening with a lack of body language to read. 

Q chuckled, _"Your choice."_ The relief suffusing Q's voice lifted James's spirits in turn, and he found himself smiling ridiculously as he went for his keys and wallet. 

"You get to choose the movie, then." James murmured, "But, if I may make a request? I don't much feel like realism tonight." 

_"I think I can work with that."_

Q was waiting at the front door, swamped in his once-green sweatshirt, but if James wasn't mistaken, he was wearing James's navy sweatshirt beneath it. It made something in James's chest twist possessively. 

Nearly tumbling out of the door in his rush to open it as James approached, Q beamed at him, joy and shyness mixing as he went to reach for the bags. 

“I’ll do the heavy lifting if you please, Q. Lead the way.” James smiled gently at Q rolling his eyes, following Q happily as he reflexively cased the building, taking note of the heightened security of the lobby itself, courtesy of Q-Branch. 

"I--" Q began, and stopped, visibly turning shy. 

"Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your company this evening, Q. I was at something of a loss without you." James murmured smoothly, and Q smiled. 

"I missed you," Q admitted. 

"I missed you, too." 

Q smiled, looking almost genuinely relieved, before his nose wrinkled, "We've gone soft, haven't we?" 

"Mmm, I tend to miss you when you're not in my ear." James defended softly, "So I think I may have started off soft when it came to you." 

"If you didn't pull me half the bloody time, I might actually believe you, Bond." Q scoffed as he led the way from the door to the kitchen, the easy clutter of his life spread out over the flat. 

James laughed, depositing the food on the large, wheeled butcher's block island that Alec had insisted on for Q's kitchen. 

"Tea?" 

"Please." James murmured. Q turned, poised to ask what kind, and James shrugged before he could voice the question, "Anything you're having. Though if it's that sleepy-time one you made last week, we may not get me home tonight." 

Q hummed, "You seemed like you needed the sleep." 

Bringing down a canister James was fairly certain he'd never seen before and a pastel-green pot, Q moved around his new kitchen with an easy grace, and James couldn't help but admire it. 

"What did you bring me?" 

"I wasn't sure which you'd feel like, so I ordered a chicken piccata and an eggplant parmesan." James knew that Q enjoyed both, and found that, when he'd trusted Q's choice of restaurants, he quite liked both, too. 

"Oh, god, I honestly don't know if I can choose." Q laughed, "I'm starving." 

"Then whichever's on top is yours." James replied, pulling out the container as Q took down two plates and got lost for a moment looking for his own cutlery drawer. 

"No commentary." Q scolded when he turned back with the necessary utensils, brandishing a fork. "I let Eve set up the kitchen while Zinnia and I worked on my office space, I was lucky to find plates on the first try." 

James hadn't intended to comment at all, but that Q had apparently not eaten was a bad sign; one that Eve had warned him of, and Q himself knew was concerning. "Eve's worse in the kitchen than Alec is, from what I understand." 

"I was just thankful I didn't have to do it." Q sighed, visibly deflating slightly, "I can't...there aren't words for me to express how much all this means to me, James, but I have to admit that a good deal of why I wouldn't have wanted to move was really down to the hassle of it." 

"I can understand that." James murmured, "I barely unpacked my flat after I was 'dead', Q. Not until Alec showed up and started 'helping'." Q laughed at his distasted air-quotes, the sound warm and fond and easily one of James's favourites. 

Q and he took their food to the low, overstuffed couch; Mary's quilt draped across the back of it, and the lamb stuffed animal Zinnia had given Q tucked neatly against one arm as a cushion. 

"What do you have in store for me tonight?" 

"Dinosaurs?" Q offered. 

"As in Michael Crichton?" 

"Not Jurassic Park, no. More I wanted to try you on an episode of Primeval." 

James grinned at the look in Q's eye, gesturing, "Let's give it a go." 

Two episodes later, Q made an obscene noise of pleasure, his head dropped against the arm of the couch, his sock-clad feet in James's lap. "You missed your calling as a masseuse, James." 

Colour was high in Q's cheeks, his skin warm under all of his layers and a glow of good food. James carefully pressed his thumb into the sole of Q's foot, biting back another smile as Q whimpered, eyes closing as he melted into the couch. "I'm finding I'd rather my talents be focused on you." 

Q cracked a smile as he cracked his eyes open, "You...really...don't have to make up for lost time." 

"Oh? I think I do." James replied, manipulating the pressure in Q's heel so that the tension of being on his feet in Q-Branch in what were likely sub-par shoes might be worked out. 

"James..." Q beckoned James's attentions to him, waiting until James had looked at him before carefully removing his legs from James's lap, sitting up and shifting close to him on the couch, "why in the world would you think you need to do so much?" 

James swallowed, Q's eyes warm and fond, but still just as ruthlessly assessing as ever. "You deserve it." 

There were many arguments that rose up behind Q's eyes, but James reached for him instead of letting any of them be voiced, pulling Q into an easy embrace. Q clung to him as if frightened of letting go, as he always did, and James let his fingers slide into Q's curls, the scent of citrus and sage filling his senses as he let his eyes close against the ache of desire in his chest. "What about what you deserve?" Q asked, voice so small that James wished he'd never heard his quartermaster like that. 

"What do I deserve, Q?" 

Q was quiet for a long time, hands unclenching from James's shirt to slowly rub over his back, "You deserve to have someone take care of you." 

"You take care of me." James told him. 

"I want to take care of you--" 

"All this, Q; letting me feed you, and make sure you sleep, and protect you? You've been taking care of me, to let me do these things." 

Q shivered into him, resting his forehead against James's jaw. 

James wanted to hold Q tighter; to shift them both so that Q could lay against his chest. He wanted Q's sharp frame and sharper wit, and wanted to get to the softness he knew--he'd seen--that lay at the centre of him. He wanted Q to be happy. Honestly and truly happy. With whomever it was that had Q's heart, he wanted Q to be happy. 

"James?" Q asked softly, voice muffled into James's shirt, and James would have pulled back if Q's hands were gripping him any less tightly. "Will you stay here with me tonight, please?" 

It wasn't an overture, James knew. He and Q had sat through a couple of gathering dawns since James had coerced a promise from Q to wake James for his nightmares. This was about comfort, and James would revel in the knowledge that he was a comfort to Q for as long as that sentiment held true. 

"Of course." James replied, somewhere between knowing and hoping Q would hear it ring true with _Always_.


	17. I'd Suffer Hell If You'd Tell Me What You'd Do to Me Tonight

Q-Branch was relatively quiet as James made his way through the warren of desks towards Q's office. 

Zinnia looked up from where she'd been suspended over the shoulder of another minion, and smiled at him, tapping the minion to indicate that she'd be back as she straightened. "Hello, Bond." 

"Hello, Miss Estevez. How are things today?" 

"The things you're interested in are in his office under a mound of paperwork that may actually weigh more than he does. He's been triaging it since he came in this morning." 

James cast a glance at the closed office door, calculating, "Has he eaten?" 

"Not that I know of." Zinnia hummed, "He's had only one cup of tea as well." She frowned at that, and James had to agree. 

"Is his mug in there with him?" 

"Must be." Zinnia confirmed, looking at him with a hint of suspicion that he had to admit was rightly placed. 

"Is there any chance you could retrieve it for me under...false pretenses? Go in to make a report..." 

Zinnia was silently giggling, her eyes bright with mischief. "I'll do what I can." 

She moved to go over to the door, but James caught her arm gently, "Wait. Before you go, I know Q likes Italian--we had that last night, though. Any ideas for another takeout he would enjoy?" 

Twenty minutes later, tea in one hand and a bag of takeaway in the other, with the minions working on their own, James let himself into Q's inner sanctum, almost gawking at the truly epic amount of paperwork. 

"Q?" 

"James?" Q moved, and James was able to refocus from the paperwork to actually see him, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the very middle of a mountain range of paper stacks. 

"Who did this?" James managed, sounding not quite as shocked as he felt. 

Q frowned, "It's Mallory's idea of a light workload while I'm getting my legs under me. I'm meant to sift through the R&D backlog...unfortunately, Boothroyd preferred paper copies of all proposed designs and only digitized those that would come to be made." 

"Does Mallory have any idea of what he's done to you?" James asked doubtfully. 

Q gave a tiny near-sob of a laugh, "Absolutely none." James shifted further into the room cautiously, trying not to disturb the drifts of blueprints and prospectuses. "Is that tea?" 

"And noodles for lunch." James confirmed. "How shall we do this?" 

It was clear, now, that Q likely may not have gotten himself a second cup of tea simply to try to avoid disturbing his organization of the project, rather than a potential bout of deprivation. James mentally ran over his schedule for the coming days and concluded that he could likely talk 009 into helping Q out while James had a training class of new recruits. So long as James didn't get called into mission, Q could be outfit with someone to at least bring him tea every few hours. 

"Shall we eat at your desk?" James asked, skirting a stack that was topped by what looked to be the plans for a bear-trap disguised as a garden gnome. James didn't want to question that. Not at all. 

"I need to move," Q sighed, "but I'm actually not sure that I can, at this stage. I've been in this position for hours." 

James's frown deepened, but he set the tea and the takeaway on Q's desk and turned to him, "How likely are these stacks to topple if moved?" 

"Those ones? I'm scared to look at them too hard." Q groaned. 

James chuckled, circling behind Q and leaning over to hook his arms under Q's. "This is likely going to hurt somewhat." James warned quietly, very conscious of Q's barely-healed ribs. 

"I've yet to perfect teleportation, so it's going to hurt no matter what." 

"Even if you teleported, though, darling, you'd still then have to straighten our legs out." James pointed out, and lifted before Q could respond. Q had the right resistance for this method, not letting his shoulders shift overmuch at the pressure. When James had halfway straightened, Q began putting pressure on his legs, hissing at the stiffness that had settled into him. 

"Thank you." Q sighed, sounding utterly relieved, and that none of the stacks had fallen was a minor miracle in and of itself. 

"Anytime." James replied warmly, taking Q's arm to help him over to the desk. 

"You know, I've always known that you lift heavy things for a living, but I never put it together that you'd be able to lift me." 

"Q, you know exactly how much weight I'm capable of lifting. You're not even close." 

Q's ears coloured, "No, I know. I suppose it hadn't occurred to me, though." 

“Who did you think it was that carried you to bed after you fell asleep with Alec and Peggy?” 

“Honestly? Peggy. She’s picked me up and carried me a few times.” Q offered, a quirk to his lips. “Usually when we go out together. She likes to make her displeasure known when I try to pull.” 

James huffed a laugh, “So she tries to warn you off of having your itches scratched?” 

“She wants to see me have a happily ever after.” Q shook his head, cupping his hands greedily around his mug of tea as James pulled containers out of the bag. 

“And why won’t you even try for a happily ever after, Q?” 

“For one thing, I don’t date spies. And for another, I doubt he’s interested.” 

James tilted his head slightly, watchful now, “Does he know you?” James asked softly. 

Q recoiled slightly, looking at Bond oddly for a long moment, but he answered truthfully, “He knows me better than anyone alive.” 

James froze, looking up to Q, who now wasn’t meeting his eye. “If he knows you at all,” James began softly, “then he would be interested.”

Q’s mouth tightened, and he looked at James over the top of his glasses, and James couldn’t stand the implication, stepping into his space. 

“It is wise of you not to date spies…” James murmured, “but I rather wonder if you’d be willing, even once, to try.”


	18. Reminiscing's What We Left Behind to Get Where We Are Now

Q was with David and Mary for a drinks night, leaving James at loose ends with the memory of that sad excuse for an overture rattling through his head. 

Q and he had eaten with the easy company that had been their norm since James had retrieved him from Medical’s vampiric clutches, but Q had looked at him oddly, he had to admit. He knew he was right in the assumption that the spy Q wanted but had decided to “moon pathetically in private” over instead of taking a chance that he could have what he wanted. James kicked himself for not having seen it from the moment he realized Q was comfortable with James touching him in a way Q hadn’t been comfortable with the others. The clues had been there, bold as brass, in Q’s silent support of him through all odds. 

James had almost been thankful when Mary had reminded them that David and she were in charge of the care and keeping of the Quartermaster for the evening. He’d considered calling either Alec or Eve, but the thought of either of them finding out that he was the unworthy arse that had held Q's heart came with the realization that, more than likely, they'd have him shot. He was tempted to do it for them, really. 

There was no dearth of reasons why James could not allow himself any closer to Q, and they were as true for the love he already felt for the man as it was of the friendship he'd denied himself for so bloody long. 

He had no doubt Q had already compiled the lot of them; had fought his own feelings--and then James remembered the look in Q's eyes, from that dark hospital bed, telling him that his agents _could not_ love him; that if he were taken, James had to be the agent that could withstand the disappearance. Q didn't want to be the liability and likely didn't want to know just how close he was to being the Double-Ohs' last link to survival anymore than James wanted to see him lose them, and lose a piece of his heart in the process. 

On top of that, James was a bastard, and he knew it. He was an alcoholic, an adrenaline junkie; he used sex as a weapon, and manipulated the feelings of others as easy as breathing because they were of little to no consequence to himself. He wasn't built for anything more than the barest of survival--there may have been a time, once, when he could have had more, but that time had long-since past with no redemption to ever be had. He lost Q's precious tech as if it meant nothing, and destroyed everything he'd ever touched. It was not hyperbole when James had told Alec that he didn't want Q to be brought into the cycle of bloodshed and pain that came with a true friendship with him. He and Q bantered-- _flirted_ , James thought with no small feeling of betrayal--over comms, and through their interactions; that alone spoke of just how much a bastard James had to be, that he hadn't realized what it was doing to Q. 

James heard his door open, but the flash of panic that should have brought didn't come as the security system chirped off, and familiar footfalls made their way straight for him. 

"I had hoped you'd never figure it out, but I also desperately wished you would, just to have you reject me and put a bloody end to it." Q murmured, sliding down with a grunt to sit beside him on the kitchen floor. He smelled of whiskey and Mary's perfume, and James saw the alcohol flush burning high in his cheeks out of the corner of his eye. "If you're uncomfortable working with--" 

"I don't--You're the best Quartermaster I've ever had." James's voice sounded rough, even to his own ears. "I don't want to lose you." 

Q hummed, settling his shoulder beside Bond's, leaning his head back against the cupboard. "You won't, James. This nonsense doesn't change anything, as far as I'm concerned." 

"It changes everything for me." James admitted, hanging his head and forcing a breath from his lungs before dragging in a new one. "But I don't want it to change the way we work." 

"My stupid fucking feelings don't have to mean anything." Q offered softly, "Nothing will really change--" 

"Q, you don't understand." James huffed, "I changed. You were...useful. Entertaining. But now...now I have no proper idea of how to do my bloody job, knowing that it will hurt you to listen to me seduce a target--or what will happen when you have to listen to me die." Q quirked a corner of his mouth, and a laugh punched out of James's chest, "Yes, I know...you'd do that for all of us, just so that we aren't alone. Do you have any idea what that's come to mean to me?" 

"Perhaps I should perfect time travel...I could go back and keep you from figuring it out--or, well, you could. I doubt any interference from me would do much more than motivate you further." 

"How did you do it?" James asked, and Q knew him well enough not to have to ask what it was James was referring to. 

"James," Q beckoned, but James still couldn't bring himself to look at the beautiful man whose heart he'd been abusing this whole time. Q sighed after a moment, reaching over and tangling his fingers over James's, "there was no question, when I realized that I was past lust for you, of whether I would be the one to listen to you seduce a target, or get shot. I wouldn't trust you to anyone else. I couldn't then, I really can't now if I'm being honest. I've been your handler for years...I know better than anyone on the planet what it entails to have fallen in love with you." 

"You deserve--" 

"Mmm, talking of things we deserve," Q began, voice low and soft and sing-song in a way that was very much like Q was talking him off the ledge of doing something he truly oughtn't, "I think I deserve to choose my own bad decisions, don't you?" 

James chuckled, swallowing, "So long as you know just how bad a decision it is." 

"What do you want, James?" Q asked quietly, after a long moment. "Taking everything else aside; knowing that how we work, and how we fit together isn't going to change with any answer you give--what do you want?" 

James finally looked at Q, the shadow over his jaw and the tired pull around his eyes; Q looked at him without a hint of artifice, his gaze concerned but warming with blue eyes finally meeting green. "I want you to be happy." James answered before he could talk himself out of the ill-advised truth. "But more than that, I don't want you to be hurt." 

Q nodded slowly, gently squeezing the fingers tangled in James's, "How would you remedy this?" 

James sighed, leaning further into Q's side. "Convince you to fall in love with someone else?" 

"What would you like to try? I've tried dating other people, and I seem to have more patience than brains when it comes to putting up with you, so irritating me out of my feelings may not be way to go..." 

James huffed a laugh, drawing Q's to his cheek and leaning into their cool touch. "Distract me." James murmured. Q waited, and James's eyes fluttered open to look at him, "Distract me from thinking about how badly I've hurt you--how badly I'll hurt you in the future." 

Q's eyes lit, a slow smile pulling at his mouth, "Care to kiss me?" 

James let out a sound like a purr, pulling Q in by the collar. Q hummed, his lips warm and slightly chapped as James captured them, wanting the simple, small pressure of lips against lips, uncomplicated. 

Reaching his free hand around to brush through James's short hair, Q moved smoothly to shift and straddle him, their tangled fingers still suspended between them as James rumbled at the gentle suck Q gave to his lower lip. James wrapped his arm around Q's back, his legs slightly bent to keep Q tipped forward over him. Q let out a tiny moan, and licked into James's mouth brazenly as James's hand trailed over his side, down against his arse with gentle pressure. James had had no intention of anything more than kissing, but with Q half-draped over him, James was revising that plan rapidly. James squeezed Q's fingers before he let go, wrapping both arms around Q. Q let out a squeak as James got his feet under him, lifting Q with him and depositing him on the island. Q wrapped both arms around James's shoulders and wrapped both legs around James's hips as James teased his tongue along Q's teeth. 

"I love you, too, Q." James murmured when he could, and Q flinched against him, his fingers tightening in the short hairs on the nape of James's neck, his legs tightening around James's hips. 

Q let out a breath as if he'd been hit, his hold on James desperate in a way that made James honestly worry. "You can't afford to love me, remember?" 

James sucked a line of kisses from the base of Q's throat to his jaw, "For as right as you are, I can't help but find myself having you here on credit." 

James stroked a sure hand down Q's back, sighing as Q shuddered into him further. James took Q's weight easily; the deep-seated ache in his bones from age and injury gone in the face of Q's warmth pressed tight to his. Lifting Q off of the granite, James was gratified with a stinging kiss bit into his own neck, Q's claim marked on his skin. "Don't love me." Q managed, licking from James's clavicle to his ear and biting lightly on his jaw. 

"Is that an order, Q? Because we both know...how well I do with those..." James undid enough of Q's buttons to pull his shirt off over his head, one hand thumbing at Q's nipples as the other threw the shirt blindly. 

Q let out a high, breathy sound of want, and James gentled his mouth on Q's pale skin, breathing him in for long moments. "Not an order." Q breathed, "I'm begging you not to love me, James. Anyone who ever has has--" 

James cut him off with his lips, folding both hands into Q's hair, cradling his head as his thumbs traced the soft hollows under his jaw, his cheekbones, "I wouldn't survive hurting you." 

Q pulled away, his eyes bright with desire, but utterly clear as he met James's gaze. 

The open book of Q's eyes laid out before James, a surrender made with no signal but a breath and a glance. James knew that Q let him lick into his mouth, and Q let his hands rub warmth into Q's pale skin. Q would have to let him be in love, and Q would let him learn how to worship the lithe strength that coiled beneath a camouflage of cardigans. 

"You're gonna be the worst decision I've ever made," Q whispered as James urged him to lay back against the dining table. 

"Those are always my favourite."


	19. I Can't Hide It From You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! A rating change!

James woke slowly, Q's head pillowed on the small of his back, and the spread of his own body over his bed oddly decadent in the grey half-light of morning in London on a predictably rainy day. James had slept better than he'd ever expected himself to when sleeping with another person. His trust in Q had translated into an easy dreamlessness and when he analyzed what had woken him, he only found himself more rested than he had been in years. 

Q's hand was wrapped around James's upper thigh possessively, and James could feel the thrilling ache of love bites scattered over his body. Q had been utterly uninhibited in leaving his mark, and James had only encouraged him to do so, never quite so at ease under the attentions of a lover as he had been with Q. 

"You're far too beautiful for me, you do realize that, right?" Q asked, not breaking the peace of the morning, really, but bringing James to the realization of a new facet of it. 

"You have looked in a mirror before, I take it?" 

Q's hand slid upwards, pinching James's arse gently even as he smiled into James's skin.

James shifted, reaching for Q, and Q raised himself from his pillow to lay down next to James, humming happily as the blond half-covered Q with his own body, curling into Q in a way that he had never done with anyone else before. "You are lovely, Q." 

"I thought you were a safe bet." Q murmured, brushing long fingers through James's short hair, squeezing softly at the back of his neck in such a way that James managed to stay relaxed even at that admission. 

"It may be the first time anyone's ever accused me of being safe." 

"You bed beautiful women and refined, handsome men..." 

"Mmm-hm." James practically purred against Q's skin. 

"I am...neither of those." Q moaned. 

James breathed Q in as he trailed over the love bites he'd left on Q's pale skin, trailing down Q's chest until he'd reached Q's flank and biting harshly at the as yet-unmarked skin there. 

"Get up here." Q demanded, one hand scrabbling against James's shoulders while the other clenched in the duvet. 

James raised himself up, pressing a luxurious, chastely closed-mouthed kiss to Q's lovely red lips, but resisted when Q tried to deepen it. "Why on earth wouldn't I want you?" 

"I'm hardly your type." 

"Deadly..." James pressed a loose kiss to Q's jaw, "impossibly strong," James teased his tongue over the notch of Q's collarbones at the base of his throat, "utterly gorgeous." 

He closed his hand around Q's cock, thumbing over the head before he gave a single, tight stroke; swallowing Q's cry as he did. Q's body was gloriously responsive to his touches, and James revelled in the uncustomary intimacy that came with it being Q's skin he was touching. "Kiss me." Q ordered, and James smirked against Q's skin, sealing his lips on a nipple to be contrary just for the sake of it in kissing Q everywhere but where he wanted to be kissed. Q let out a groan, one eloquent hand falling over his eyes, but he didn’t try to hide his smile, “Why on earth did I fall right into bed with you? I ought to have made you earn it…You’ll never respect me in the morning at this rate.” 

James licked a path over the valley between Q’s abdominal muscles to his navel, then paused, face hidden against the soft skin. Stroking his thumb under the head of Q's cock, James teased his tongue lover the beading precum at Q's slit and enjoyed Q's whimper. "And when does morning come?" James asked, voice gone low with his desire. 

Q let out a desperate moan as James mouthed at his balls, the heady musk of sex getting stronger as Q tried not to writhe. "T-Tea...first cup of tea." 

James nipped at the inside of Q's straining thigh before swallowing Q to the root in one go and humming around the heated length of him. Q nearly screamed, James's hands on his hips the only thing keeping him on the bed as he was taken in a full-body jolt of arousal and pleasure that had him leaking precum into James's throat. James sucked as he pulled back, and Q whined at the pressure, panting as if there wasn't air in the room. Instead of replying as he'd intended, though, James sank back down on Q's cock, the taste and weight of him painfully arousing. Q scrabbled at his shoulder for a moment before throwing both arms up to clutch at the headboard, his teeth close to biting a hole in the opulent curve of his lower lip as he forced himself to keep still. James chuckled as he pulled off with a slick pop, the sound of it obscene only in the context of Q's wrecked gasp. "I had hoped you'd tell me morning didn't come until we actually got out of bed. It would be cruel to deprive you of tea, so I won't try to talk you into forestalling the morning much more, though." 

Q's cheeks were an impossibly high rose, his hair flopped into his forehead as he stared at James with a mixture of vicious hunger and stunned love. "I would have," Q managed, swallowing thickly as James traced his hands over the planes of Q's torso, from his underarms to his hips, "but I didn't want to be greedy." 

James quirked a grin, ducking down to lick a mark he'd sucked into the valley beside his hip the night before. "I like greed in a bedfellow, Quartermaster. It makes it easier for me to be greedy as well." 

In a deliciously sinuous roll, Q shuddered, hips shoving into James's palms, and James took that as his cue to return to his ministrations. Blowing a cold gust over Q's erection, James shifted one arm to band over Q's hips so that he could move his other hand to toy along Q's balls, finger pressing against Q's perineum as he gave a teasing suck to the head. 

The tangle of them the night before had been desperate and clinging; a levee broken, and their mutual hunger finally felt. Now, James wanted to take his time with taking Q apart. "Tell me what you want." 

Shuddering, Q licked his lips and blinked slowly as if the words weren't quite registering for a moment. James spread himself over Q, the easy fit of their bodies decadent as he nuzzled into Q's throat. Q moaned softly, rocking his hips up into the weight of James's. 

"There are far too many things I'd like to do to you, so it has to be your choice." 

Q whimpered, tugging James up to seal their mouths together for a mind-meltingly hot, slow kiss. "Fuck me...please, James..." 

James reached blindly for the lube on top of the bedside table, and fumbled inside the drawer for a condom. The night before had been too hurried for much more than desperate handjobs and near-adolescent snogging. 

Careful to warm the viscous liquid first, James eased Q into a lingering kiss as he teased a finger into the tight heat of Q's body. 

Gasping into James's mouth, Q relaxed sweetly around him. "God, you're beautiful." James groaned, pressing a worshipful kiss to the corner of Q's mouth. 

The responsiveness that had James utterly enthralled heightened as James stretched Q slowly and thoroughly, putting as much pleasure as possible into every touch. By the time James thought Q anywhere close to ready, Q was nearly keening into his shoulder from the stimulation, hips rocking down on James's fingers in desperate little thrusts. Between the foreplay and the prep, Q's cock looked painfully hard, leaking steadily. James pressed a string of kisses to Q's jaw as he ripped open the condom and managed to roll it onto himself one-handed, keeping the pressure of his fingers in place until the last moment. 

Pressing into the heat of Q in a slow, smooth roll of his hips, James swallowed down the tiny cry Q gave as James bottomed out and held, the kisses between them propagating like bunnies and losing all finesse as they did so. Q's body squeezed around James to urge him to move, and James was infinitely willing to follow orders like those. The slow drag of his cock in Q’s heat brought a sweet whimper from Q’s throat, his fingertips pressing bruises into James’s shoulders. “You’re so perfect.” 

Q let out a tiny laugh, head tipped back against the pillows and gaze hazy and hot. “You’re one to talk.” Q breathed, urging James into another kiss, the glide of his tongue against James’s somehow both possessive and teasing. James felt a dark curl of arousal thud home at the base of his spine, and he wrapped Q in his arms, shifting back and pulling Q up with him, losing all leverage to thrust as the breach of his cock got impossibly deeper. Q let out a moan that sounded near pain, limp in his arms for a long moment before Q found enough traction to rock his hips against James, the motion dragging James against that sweet bundle of nerves that sent pleasure sparking through Q in hot little pulses. 

Those contractions were enough to have James close, Q’s desperate noises burning a rightful place in James’s brain, to be remembered and replayed for the rest of James’s life. James brushed his nose along the curve of Q’s throat, the scent of sex and bergamot and explosives inebriating. “Come for me, Q.” James urged, sucking another mark into Q’s neck—this one too high to be hidden by his collar, a blatant statement that Q belonged to someone…belonged to _him_. 

The crest of Q’s orgasm left Q shaking in his arms, cum splattered between them and still coming as Q ground James’s cock into his prostate, the flutter of his muscles clawing James’s orgasm from him even while James fumbled to milk Q through it. There were tears clumping Q’s lashes, his mouth slack as he panted against James’s shoulder. “I think you broke me.” Q managed, cheeks and lips impossibly red, and curls damp with sweat. James chuckled, carefully laying Q against his pillows before sliding from his body. James nearly stumbled in standing, his whole body tingling. Q hummed his thanks when James returned with a damp flannel, cleaning Q carefully. James couldn’t resist stealing another soft kiss, sharing air. Q was trembling slightly as he tugged at James, and James cleaned himself perfunctorily before sliding against Q. 

James tucked himself around Q, head cradled in the curve of Q’s collarbone. Q’s fingers carded through James’s sweaty hair, and James shivered into him, reaching blindly to pull the duvet up around them.


	20. If I Let You Hang Around, I'm Bound to Lose My Mind

Q wasn't in bed with James the next time he woke, and it said several things about how much James trusted him that James had managed to sleep through Q leaving. 

The light spilling through his windows told him it was nearly noon, and James languished on the bed for a moment with the pleasurable ache of Q's love bites and fingertip-bruises on his skin. Pulling himself out of bed, James smiled as the familiar scent of tea reached him, and rather than head towards the shower, James detoured to the kitchen. 

Wearing one of James's button-up shirts and his pants, Q leaned against the counter, clearly lost in thought. 

James purred as he caught Q's hips in his hands, pressing himself against Q's back as he ducked down to kiss along his jaw and nip at his ear. Q squirmed slightly, his cheeks heating before he tried to pull away, but James wrapped his arms securely around Q's waist, dropping his chin to Q's shoulder, "What has you out of bed, darling?" 

Q fidgeted in a way that he never had before, his hands fluttering as if he was going to pry James's arms from around him, and James was immediately on-edge. "You don't have to--" Q began, his voice tight. 

"Don't have to what?" James didn't loosen his grip, though he straightened so that he wasn't quite so draped over Q. 

"I expect you got me out of your system, and--" 

James whirled Q around, silently thankful that Q's cup of tea was on the counter instead of in his hands. Gripping Q's hips, James plunked him onto the counter beside the tea, boxing him in to stare into Q's startled eyes. "Have you gotten me out of your system, then?" James demanded. "Because when I told you last night that I love you, I didn't mean just for last night--I meant for as long as you'll bloody have me." 

Q looked stunned, blinking owlishly behind his specs before he looked down and away from James's gaze. 

"How on earth could I be done with you, Q?" James breathed, welcoming Q’s hands fluttering to his sides. “So I ask again: are you done with me?” 

“ _No_.” Q whimpered, clutching at James’s skin. Q’s hands were the same, steady extensions of that voice that guided James through his missions as they carded through his hair. “You petrify me.” Q breathed, pulling James into a slow kiss. 

"You terrify me, love." James murmured, "You are far too dangerous for me not to be terrified." 

Q shivered, licking at James's lower lip. "I love you, James." Q gasped against his mouth, hands greedy on James as he slid his hands under Q's legs, lifting them around his hips. 

"I love you, too." James breathed, burying his face in Q's throat. "I adore you." 

Q let out a broken moan, but he refused to let himself ask of James anything more than James had easily given him. James knew that Q would never ask him for anything if he could help it: it just meant James would have to anticipate all that Q could want. 

“I am tempted not to let you out of my bed this weekend, but I’d rather like to take you for a proper date…interested?” James murmured. 

“I think your version of a proper date and mine likely differ greatly.” Q’s apprehension was clear in the colour of his cheeks, the shyness of his hands now on James’s skin. 

“Do you know, I’ve had very little call to figure out what my version of a proper date is. Care to experiment, Quartermaster?” 

Q’s eyes flashed with humour, his long fingers stroking the gilt of gold stubble against James’s jaw. “You know how much I love experimentation…but I think right now I’d rather you take me back to bed.” 

James growled happily, kissing the taste of tea from Q’s lovely mouth as he draped Q over his front and lifted.


	21. Into the Trees With Empty Hands

The call split the crooning vocals of Melody Gardot as James was putting the finishing touches on the rich, hearty beef stew James would be using as a filling for the beef pot pies he’d be serving for dinner. Q’s flat smelled of garlic and beef and thyme; the sun slanted through the windows, a rare lovely day for London. Q had opted to work a half-day, leaving James in his bed that morning with the promise of an afternoon full of delights, and James had started cooking for an impromptu mid-afternoon picnic, if he could time it correctly. 

But the call was the ringtone that spoke of _I need you there yesterday_ and canceled plans. 

“Bond.” 

_”The Quartermaster has been taken.”_ For a moment, James was laying on a bed in Venice, in the sun-soaked room, trying to be happy, and every particle that makes the man up _twisted_ in the worst possible way. 

“I’m on my way.” James managed, flicking off the hob and heading for the door. 

_”It looks as though information on who Q used to be was shared from the systems of the group you took down in Prague.”_ There was a reprimand somewhere in Mallory’s tone; an unspoken acknowledgment that James’s report on the matter was proving to be lacking, but James didn’t care if he was to lose his job for it, or if Mallory would prove to be idiot enough to actually perform an inquest on Q: he and Q would disappear, and likely Q would take the entirety of the Double-Oh department with him. 

“Do we have any idea of where he is?” 

The line gave an odd click, and James stopped dead halfway down the stairs. _”James, it’s Zinnia. Mary can’t officially tell you this, but if you go to Q’s office corner and punch your call sign into the safe disguised as cooling fan, you’ll find everything you’ll need for this without having to come in and waste time.”_ The boffin sounded halfway to irate about the situation, and James kept hold of himself enough not to say anything about the illegal firearm he carried in his ankle holster. 

Q had looked much like he’d wanted to club James with it when he’d found out, but rather than being caught up on the _rules_ , Q had been incensed that James would entrust his life to a “sub-par gun”, and had immediately taken it, handing it back to James with Q’s specs and James’s personalization a few hours later while James, Thalia, Marc, and David were playing a hybrid of poker and Go-Fish. 

Now, James took the stairs back up two at a time, a cold knot of Schrödinger’s agony whispering darkly that he’d never see Q frown at him like that again. 

_”Q has been sending out signals in Morse, but we don’t have anyone in to translate.”_ Mary’s voice filtered through his connection with Zinnia. 

“Can you get the code into an audible rundown so I can translate?” 

James did not receive an answer so much that it started, the dots and dashes transposed into a low static that James could easily ignore if he needed to ignore it. “Kelpie?” James grabbed the gun, a prototype comm, and an Omega Seamaster watch from the cubbyhole of the safe that opened up. 

_”Searching,”_ Mary reported at the same time Zinnia told him what to expect from his equipment. 

_”Q built the watch as a signal blocker for any signal that is not MI6-encrypted, as well as giving it a rather…explosive alarm.”_

James huffed a rough laugh, already back out of the door and sprinting down the stairs. “Gun is standard Q-issue?” 

_”He didn’t tell me anything about modifying your gun specs…”_ Mary sounded annoyed. _”That safe is his pet-projects collection for each of you.”_

James didn’t know how it was possible for him to love Q any more than he already did, but he found himself doing exactly that at the image of Q bent over his desk, working on these things for his agents. _"Your car has been flagged as a do-not-stop, James: David and Thalia will be joining you."_

"Zinnia, you're too good for me." 

_"I learned from the best. Now go get the best back for us."_


	22. I Won’t Rise Until This Battle’s Won

"I thought I'd recognized your sub-standard work in Cannes, Kelpie.” Q could be heard taunting his captor as James, Thalia, and David got into position to take out the far-flung thugs stationed around the warehouse. 

As much as James wanted to go in guns-blazing, they couldn't afford the risk it would pose to Q in giving the excess personnel time to turn their guns on their hostage. 

Thalia practically snarled as Kelpie slapped Q across the face with all the force in her body. 

"You should be more afraid than you are, Quirk." Kelpie growled, her lips pulled back over her teeth. 

Q just started laughing, “You still think all I am is a white hat keeping you out of places you oughtn’t be.” Kelpie backhanded Q on the opposite cheek, and Q spat out blood, but kept laughing. “I’m in love with the most dangerous spy in the world, Kel, and he’s coming for me.” 

James didn’t allow himself to so much as smirk, “Kelpie is unarmed.” He murmured, taking aim at the armed goon nearest the doors. 

“A spy lover?” Kelpie scoffed, “You don’t have to make up stories, Quirk.” 

_”Three, two…one.”_ Mary counted, and all three Double-Ohs made their shots, and James shifted to drop to the warehouse floor, the other two clearing the remaining six goons in the chaos as Kelpie leapt in shock, grabbing Q by the shirt and wrestling him to stand between James and his target. 

“Hello, darling.” James purred. 

“Don’t—“ Kelpie snarled, shuffling herself and Q towards the door. Thalia shot her neatly through the neck, sending Q stumbling into James’s waiting arms. 

Hissing in pain, Q let James take his weight carefully, frowning but accepting it as James half-carried him to a seat. 

Q’s lip was split again, bruises blooming from the slapping. His wrists were abraded from zip-ties tightened too far, and there was a clear compound fracture to his left leg. James took in every detail as quickly as he could, reporting it back to Mary efficiently, as Thalia and David cleared the warehouse completely and circled towards them. “Hey, handsome.” Thalia murmured softly, ducking in to kiss Q’s forehead. He managed something between a smile and a wince, leaning into James’s touch when he reached up to gently feel for skull damage. 

“I thought I was your best spy, Quartermaster.” David smiled as Thalia produced a spare pair of specs normally at home in Q's desk at Q-Branch. Q blinked them into focus, tearful relief in his eyes, and James ducked in, pulling Q into his arms and hugging him carefully, but tightly. 

“I’ll carry Q out.” James told the other two, voice low and rough with feeling. 

“ETA for Medical evac is ten minutes.” Thalia told Q, as James and David could hear Mary telling them. 

“Get me out of here.” Q murmured, nodding into James’s shoulder. Thalia stabilized Q’s leg as James rose carefully. Q grunted, a burning cheek pressed to James’s jaw as Q hid his face against James’s throat. James understood; the pain of moving was worth it not to be in a place that would have seen him tortured and killed, surrounded by enemies, but it didn't make it any easier as Q's entire frame shook in his arms with the agony. 

"I thought I was supposed to be the troublesome one in this relationship, Q." James murmured, voice low and smooth so as to distract Q as much as he possibly could. 

"And let you have all the fun?" Q asked, voice hazy, "Never." Q looked over to David as they cleared the area outside the warehouse, James sitting down against the building with Q tucked in his arms. "Charlie?" 

James frowned, before he realized that Charlie was the one that had been set to pick Q up that morning. David wasn't answering him, and it was answer enough, a broken sound escaping Q before he could stop it. 

"You put up a wonderful fight, babe." Thalia cooed at him, crouching before them. 

Tears were caught on Q's lashes, "Apparently not wonderful enough." Q started to shiver, and James rubbed over his back gently. "Charlie died--" 

"He went out how he'd have wanted to go out--trying to protect you." Thalia replied bluntly. "Only thing he'd be sore about is that he didn't quite manage it." 

Q flinched, and James glared behind Q's back at Thalia, until she held up her hands in surrender, shifting back to wait for medical evac. 

James gently urged Q down against his shoulder, cradling him in his arms as Q tucked his forehead against James's jaw. "We'll get you patched up and back home." James promised, "Tell me about Kelpie." 

Q took a shaking breath, "I...told you...about the manager at the internet café I worked at?" Q licked his lips, wincing slightly at the sting in the split, "Kelpie got on the bad side of the wrong people, and pinned it on my friend. They killed her...and I dedicated myself to ruining Kelpie--to the extent that she's not been able to get anywhere near anything more complicated than a toaster in years.” 

“You mentioned she’d done work in Cannes?” James asked quietly. 

“The coding wasn’t hers, but I do recognize her particular flourish, now. She was working with someone, at least there—I’ll have my work cut out for me to trace if there’s anything else of hers hiding anywhere else, analyze it to see if it’s the same actual coder...” Q sounded despondent, and even though James couldn’t see his face, he could picture the far-off gaze of a man facing a loss that hurt. 

“First we get you patched up,” James murmured into Q’s mess of hair, the reminder steady and necessary when Q was still trembling in his arms, “then we go home. I’ll be staying with you, I think, and when you’re healed, then I’ll make you tea in Q-Branch and rub your shoulders while you work.” 

Q’s hands closed around James’s arm and clung, the look of desolation on his face bringing a sharp pain to James’s chest. James watched as words formed and died behind Q’s eyes, and half-knew what it was he ultimately wouldn’t let Q say. Q had lost an agent who had been acting as his own security detail: If there was any time for it to be brought home exactly the risk Q was taking in loving James, it was in that chaotic flicker of aftermath; in that haze of grief. James brushed the backs of his fingers over Q’s bruised cheek, tracing his thumb under the gentle pink of Q’s lower lip so as not to pull the split to bleeding again. Q’s eyes grew dark with his understanding; a mixture of dread and gratitude, a blossoming of desperation trying to tamp out hope. 

“I can’t believe you fell for the cheap smarm, Q.” David scoffed, cutting through the tension just at its zenith, right when James needed him to. 

“I expected better.” Thalia sighed. 

Q’s gaze held in his with a promise James didn’t want Q to keep, that they would have to put to words Q’s arguments and fears, and deal with them. “Peggy will be pleased.” 

Both of the prowling Double-Ohs froze, sharing a look before turning to look at James and Q. The shriek was well-done, in unison, “HIM?!” 

It was nearly enough to make Q laugh.


	23. I’ll Be Your Hero, If You Need Someone to Save You

“The issue remains that Q is an even higher-profile target than our previous Quartermasters combined…but I fail to see, 007, how this has brought you to me.” Mallory steepled his fingers, leaned back in his chair. 

James had blood on his cuff from holding gentle pressure to the break in Q’s leg to slow the bleeding. He smelled vaguely of gunpowder and Q’s apartment. And he knew he’d never sounded quite so desperate to Mallory’s predecessor as he did now to Mallory. M would be cackling. “The security detail of off-duty Double-Ohs was organized by me, sir. You have to be aware that were something to happen to Q, you have little hope of keeping any of us from wreaking havoc and vengeance upon the perpetrators. It’s my contention that you need to find a security detail for Q, one that is fully sanctioned and outfit to protect him.” 

Mallory took a slow breath, “The relationship between Q and the Double-Oh division is something I’m well aware of, 007, but I cannot see my way clear to grounding my agents to protect one man, no matter how…precious.” 

It was a terrible idea, James knew, and he ought to have talked to Q about it, but— “Then you have my resignation from the Double-Oh Programme, in conjunction with my application to Q’s security detail.” 

James did work best on the fly.


	24. I Just May Be Too Crazy to Love

James had to hand it to Q, considering it was non-regulation equipment, his aim was quite good as he flung a spoon at James’s head when he let himself into Q’s hospital room. 

“ _YOU RESIGNED?!_ ” Q’s voice reached a rumbling decibel that likely would have had the disapproving horde of nurses descending if Q had not already put the fear of Quartermaster into them upon hearing the news. 

“I requested reassignment,” James replied evenly, transferring the bag of food Zinnia had had waiting for him to the other hand as he turned to politely close the door to their domestic. 

“Why the ever-bloody-fucking HELL would you—“ 

“My job since the first attempt, Q, has consisted of being bodyguard to you. I find I quite like the perks, and I’m not prepared to risk you to anyone else.” James remained calm, maddeningly so, because he knew that that was precisely what Q did to them. “What’s more, I will retain status as 007; my missions will become a hunt for any further factions with their eyes on you, and I’d rather it be my dead body someone has to climb over to get to you, Q.” 

It was a low blow, and James knew it as soon as the flippant words left his mouth, but the sentiment remained: he would die before letting anyone reach Q. Q’s eyes were wet, his voice scraped raw when he whispered, “No.”

James moved to set the bounty in the plastic bag on the side-table, the scent of garlic and naan permeating the room. 

“We need to talk.” Q said, and tears were already spilling to the corners of his eyes, where James silently leaned in and kissed them away. “James, this is—I can’t stay here, I ought to go to ground—“ 

“Mmm?” James hummed, tracing a touch over one of the love bites he’d left on Q’s collarbone. “Did you have somewhere in mind? Flying is out, I realize, but we could go to ground in a lovely little villa in Spain if you’re amenable to a short boat ride.” 

“You can’t come with me, it’s too—“ Q cut off at the look James levelled upon him. “I…You can’t be the one I lose next. And I _can’t_ lose you because of me.” 

“Charlie was relatively unarmed: an unregistered .22 and a knife. I am sanctioned to carry whatever my Quartermaster sees fit to outfit me with for the task of keeping him safe.” James told him, reaching down to take Q’s hand in his; the temperature of his skin concerning enough that James began rubbing gently at the zip-tie marks still stark on Q’s wrists. “I am your dedicated agent.” 

“You love the field—what happens if you and I—“ 

“Then I’ll resign, let James become 002 for a while, I can be 007.” Thalia volunteered from the doorway. 

David followed her, the both of them each lugging an overstuffed bag. “I can be 007, too, when you get sick of him. You know how I love escort missions, Q.” The sardonic edge to that statement had Q snort in derision, and David failed to bite back his smile as he set the bag on the visitor’s chair atop the bag Thalia had carried in, opening it up to pull out Mary’s quilt and Zinnia’s Wolf. James stood back, passively grateful to prolong the discussion he knew was coming. 

“I don’t want you all to…” Q looked pleadingly over at James, and he did understand. 

“I wouldn’t give it up if I wasn’t willing to give it up, Q. We will lay down our lives to protect you: You know better than anyone about our devotion to duty, you know what it takes for that devotion to be so freely given.” 

Thalia pressed a kiss to his forehead again, taking up Q’s free hand and mirroring the gentle ministrations James had continued as the quilt was tucked around his lover and the plush laid beneath his head. Q didn’t understand it—not in the way he ought to have, and James knew that that was a shadow of abuse and neglect that he’d see driven away if it was the last thing James Bond ever did. “We love you.” David told him, simply and clearly, and Q broke. 

James perched on the edge of the hospital bed, welcoming Q‘s head against his chest as Q began to earnestly cry. 

The strength of the man who’d dragged himself to his desk in the dead of night after a kidnapping attempt was brought low by the easy act of reciprocation, and James kept a strangling hold of the urge to hunt down every last person who had driven the neglect home. Thalia’s orange-painted fingernails flashed as she buried her hand in Q’s curls, scratching and petting lightly. Behind her, David sat at Q’s hip, hand on his undamaged knee beneath the quilt, just another point of contact and connection as Q broke down at last under the weight of fear and grief. 

“We have you, love.” Thalia cooed softly, and the hand that she had freed by moving to Q’s hair reached down to be taken by David, who looked as dire as James felt. 

“I can’t—I c-can’t be y-your…your weakness.” Q was hyperventilating, and Thalia moved to get him a tissue, letting Q blow his own nose as he withdrew from David and James both, trying to press himself into the bed and into non-existence. 

“You’re not,” David told him, eyes clear with the truth of that assertion, “you’re our strength. You’re our focal point.”


	25. You Answered Me With No Pretense

Alec shouldered open Q’s door as James wheeled him from the elevator, all jokes about finally getting to push Q around already run through before they’d even left Medical. 

“Will I need to bring James clothes, Q, or will this be a thoroughly decadent healing process?” Alec asked as he set Q’s collection of pills on the butcher’s block. 

“He’ll be the one answering the door for takeaway and cooking—I’ve no intention on sharing James with half the bloody delivery drivers in London, let alone the considerable damage that could be done if one were to try to cook bacon in the buff.” Q replied primly, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes still. 

Medical had kept him for two weeks before Q managed to wheedle an agreement to let him go home out of the doctor if Q agreed to bed rest. James had sworn that Q would hold to that agreement, even before Nurse Gloria threatened to blenderize his genitals with him still attached should the Quartermaster not heal as quickly or as well as he ought to. James had appealed to Q’s apparent enjoyment of having those appendages attached to his body to wheedle his own promises out of the Quartermaster on the matter. 

Q had had a near-constant stream of visitors, and James was well aware of just how constant it was because he hadn’t left Q’s side. As a consequence of the company, the waiting storm of Q’s emotions had been carefully measured, kept locked away after the overflow on day one. 

The signs were noticeable to anyone who cared to look: Q was spiralling into an episode of deprivation, though he’d forced himself to eat when food had been brought to him. After the third cup of tea untouched, James had known he should be preparing for the worst. 

Alec made his farewells, and as the door closed, James felt the tension seep into his shoulders and neck that they were finally alone to have the discussion they’d both been putting off. James took in the exhaustion colouring the skin beneath Q’s eyes; the desolation of his gaze, and he yearned to pull Q into his arms and neglect to let him back out. 

Crouching before the chair, James looked up at Q with no masks in place; no façades to hide behind. He let every scrap of love and affection and concern show on his face, in his eyes, and Q reached to take his hand. “Bathroom, then bed? I can wash your hair in the sink, and we can finally have a rest for longer than a couple of hours without a nurse bustling in.” 

Q’s refusal was in his eyes, but James pressed kisses to his hands. 

“Will you let me?” James murmured gently, kissing Q’s palm, up his wrist. “Will you let me take care of you?” 

“Why are you doing this, James?” Q whispered, stopping James’s trail of kisses and nips to meet his gaze with those damnably knowing eyes, “You cannot have given up your work—your _life_ —for a relationship not even a week old.” 

“We both know that’s not quite true, Quartermaster. Our relationship is far more than the romantic entanglement, and if I’m being truthful, you’ve been under my skin for much longer than I would care to admit.” James wrapped a hand around Q’s undamaged calf, grip solid as if anchoring them both to his words, “You well-being is far too important to me to leave to anyone else. I understand your fear—but in that eternity between when you’d been taken and when we came for you, Q, I let go of my fears. I can give you peace and protection—“ 

“At the cost of your own bloody freedom, Bond, and that’s what vexes me most!” 

“Why? We both know that I was not much longer for being a Double-Oh, one way or the other. Mandatory retirement is 45. If it’s my choice to end my career taking care of the man I’m in love with, is that really such a terror?” 

Q’s eyes were soft and wet, but his jaw was still set, “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that you want this, Bond.” 

“What wouldn’t I want? The opportunity to come home every night? To be with you properly? I have very little past with relationships, Q, but the thought of bedding anyone else while courting you frankly does not appeal. Putting aside the fact that I am in a position to protect you with this change, and how important that is, you’ve worked your way into my heart, and I want to know that I can be yours.” 

Q’s hands shook minutely, “I never wanted you to give up the field, James.” 

“I know that. I want to give it up. I have for a while, really.” 

Q’s gaze raked over James’s face, searching for a flicker of doubt which he would never find. Catching James’s chin in his fingers, Q urged him into a kiss that he felt he _needed_. James licked at Q’s lip, and cradled his hands around Q’s jaw as if Q were the most valuable thing he’d ever touched. 

“I’m old, Q, and I’m tired; all I want is you safe and sound and preferably in my bed.” 

Q smiled against his mouth, and the kiss he pressed into James’s lips wasn’t a sentiment of belief so much as a promise to try to believe him, and James could work with that. “Then let’s wash my hair, and go to bed.” 

Taking the victory for what it was, James hummed his assent and stood, letting himself steal a kiss to Q’s forehead as he went. “What shampoo today?” 

“Your choice: I rarely have to smell my hair after I’ve washed it, and you seem to have developed a habit of burying your face in it.” Q replied with no small fondness, and James smiled as he pushed the wheelchair towards the bathroom. 

In the hospital, James had observed the methods the nurses had used in their perfunctory cleaning when Q had begged them into it, and had made a mental list of what Q was not satisfied with, and all the ways he might be able to remedy that. Q had fought him staying in the room as this had happened, and while in the past James might have been convinced to acquiesce, James had told him that his safety was James’s responsibility, and how could he possibly leave Q in Medical’s vampiric clutches at his most vulnerable? 

Q had not been impressed, but he seemed to understand that James was staying because there were several things James had decided he needed to know how to do, and this was one of them. 

Now, with James’s sleeves rolled to the elbow, his hands kneading against Q’s scalp with eucalyptus-scented shampoo, Q’s purring pleasure-sounds echoing through the bathroom. Q’s leg was a mottled mess, the sutures standing black against the crusted blood, the bruising enough to make James ache in sympathy. With sure, steady strokes, James worked the suds through the back of Q’s head and down his neck. Q moaned, his body leaking tension. James bent to kiss Q’s closed lashes, brushing his lips against Q’s in an act more of sharing air than of true touch. 

“I love you.” Q whimpered, and James smiled. 

“I love you, too. And I love hearing you say that.” 

Q smiled sleepily as James carefully washed the suds from those inky curls. With the kind of breathless care that usually saw James Bond lining up a shot, James stroked his flannel-covered hands over Q’s skin, knowing just how inhuman it had made him feel to go without washing the blood from his skin for so long and wanting to do everything he could to alleviate it. 

“I got the black sweatpants that are four sizes too big for you. We can put on a new bandage and it shouldn’t be too irritated. I still don’t understand how you manage to fully break the laws of physics by keeping the damn things on your hips.” 

Q smiled, tipping his face up for a kiss. James licked Q’s lips, nipping at the lower before he fell headlong into kissing Q as fully and deeply as he physically could. 

Drinking in Q’s pleased whine, James knelt without breaking their connection, Q’s hands cupping his skull. James rubbed his thumb over the column of Q’s neck, his love bites faded away from the pale skin. 

“I want you,” Q breathed once they had to, his pupils blown. 

“I can promise you, love, that I will figure something out for us, but not today.” Q groaned, but nodded his agreement, his fingers stroking the lines of James’s jaw, stubble catching at the sensitive pads of his fingers. 

James carried Q from the bathroom when they were done, the weight of him heartbreakingly light. Q was perfectly capable of getting dressed, but he was pliant and willing as James did it for him, smoothing the navy sweatshirt over Q’s shoulders with careful hands. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore.” 

James hummed, “I’d offer to fix that for you, but I’d rather just stay close enough for you not to need it to smell of me.” 

With gentle arms, James shifted Q up against the pillows, pulling a pillow under Q’s injury. 

“Would you like a cup of tea, love?” 

“No thank you. I’d rather you get in here with me.” 

James smiled softly, “I can’t sleep beside you, but I’d be happy to hold you for a while.” 

Q pouted, but he watched as James stripped to his pants and slid beside him. James nuzzled into the space beneath Q’s hairline, James’s lips resting against the back of his neck. Wrapping his arm around Q’s waist, James closed his eyes and breathed him in. 

“I’m proud of you,” James murmured softly. 

“Hm?” 

“I know you haven’t wanted to eat, that you’ve been forcing yourself. I’m proud of you, for fighting it.” 

Q heaved a deep sigh, his fingers toying with James’s. “I can manage, sometimes. Not on the really bad days.” 

“Would you tell me if there’s something you think I can do?” 

Q’s fingertips trailed over the back of his hand, his touch like a balm over James’s scars. “In my more desperate days…when it feels like my brain is completely at odds with itself, I’ve wondered what I could ever possibly ask of someone, if anyone were ever to offer their help.” Q looked over his shoulder, then frowned that he could only able to see James in profile in that configuration. “I’ve wondered if it would contextualize the matter, to see someone I care for going through what I seem to be helpless but to put myself through. I’ve forced myself to eat in the past—I do it a lot more than I’d like to admit to, really…” Q subsided, and James didn’t have the words to encourage, nor any hint of need to recriminate. 

“You are loved,” James finally breathed into his ear, pressing his lips to Q’s cheek in punctuation, and Q settled further against him as if a crutch had been kicked out from under him. 

“I made my peace to give my love to my agents because I needed to make sure each one was never a disposable pawn to my mind: I’ve always know I would be deserted, and have to rebuild, countless times.” 

“You never expected us to love you back,” James agreed, voice low, “and in that, your math was wrong. You missed a critical variable: you didn’t factor in what it feels like to have the love of someone like you.” James shifted, sliding down slightly to prop himself on the arm he’d had around Q’s shoulders, looking him in the eye now, “I understand the mistake: it’s impossible to quantify without previous experience.” 

“Lacking the data.” Q agreed, voice tight but hands soft as they reached to brush over James’s cheeks. 

James leaned in and kissed the trepidation off of Q’s lips, pouring himself into the gentle ache of wanting to be closer when Q was already there against him, as close as they could viably get. Kissing Q was more intimate than most of the sex James had ever had; and though he had enjoyed plenty of the sex he’d had, kissing Q was somehow, impossibly, better than all of it. Knowing Q, getting close to him over the month and a half that had passed from the initial kidnapping attempt, James knew without a flicker of doubt that he’d be quite happy to only ever kiss Q for the rest of his life. There was no dominance to the kiss, no need for it; this was a dance designed to make one giddy and dizzy and utterly flush with happiness, and they went into it as the purest form of partners. 

Q’s head fell back against the pillows as he grinned dazedly and tried to catch his breath, looking flushed and fully happy. “You’ve got to stop kissing me like that…I think you shut down my brain.” 

Chuckling, James ducked his head down to trail light kisses over his throat, the warmth of him mesmerizing. “Good, maybe we’ll manage to get you to sleep.” 

Q laughed, “God, I wish you could stay on the bed with me.” 

“A few more weeks, love. You’re healing fast.” 

“Mmm, had to or I’d never escape the reign of terror of Nurse Gloria. She’s far too used to dealing with you colicky lot.” 

James laughed against Q’s shoulder, then pressed a kiss to the navy cloth over his heart. “I’ll be here beside you until you fall asleep, then I’m going to put on the laundry and see about getting some groceries for something tempting enough that you’ll actually want to eat it.” 

“Oh? What did you have in mind?” 

With an impish grin, James shook his head, “That would be telling. Now, you have four hours until your next bout of medication. Have a nap, darling.” James murmured, voice low and smooth, and he slid his palm over Q’s eyes, the tickle of Q’s lashes against his skin bringing a surge of love in his chest like he’d never experienced before. 

Fresh ingredients were James’s focus for Q: the other Double-Ohs and Mary and Zinnia had kept them in takeaway rather than having to face down eating the truly horrific stuff they offered patients in Medical. James wasn’t going to force Q to eat, but he would view it as a personal challenge to make a meal that would coax Q into eating without having to force himself. James knew Q liked all manner of cuisine, but he was brought back to the night he’d returned from Prague; the quiet, easy way Q had told him that the simple pizza was comfort food for him. James had asked Mary about comfort food, and what options Q was likely to find most comforting. 

James had made Eve and Alec come to clear out the fridge of anything that would go off, and stock it back, and though Q didn’t have much, James hadn’t had them remedy that. 

As Q’s breathing evened out into sleep, James turned his eyes from a perusal of the space they’d chosen for him to the man himself. In the hospital, Q had begun to grow a beard, his hair growing even wilder, and now that it was clean, fluffier, and James had to admit that the dark scruff was something of a turn-on as it grew in fuller. Q looked somewhat wild from that buttoned-up Quartermasterly aura, and the devastating intelligence behind his green-grey eyes took on an edge of challenge that was so recklessly playful that it sent a frisson of thrill up James’s spine when Q had given him those damnably knowing looks. But those looks were rare; Q’s grief hadn’t abated, and his fears dampened out the omniscience of his eyes. 

Q snuffled slightly, and let out a soft, pained sound as he tried to turn onto his side only for the damage to his leg to twinge. James slid from the bed with easy grace, padding across the room to retrieve his tablet from the overnight bag Eve had provided him with in the hospital. The tablet, as Q-Branch equipment, had already logged itself into a wifi connection Q had set up for visitors, slightly less secure than his actual, personal connection. James glanced back at the bed before dropping the volume on the tablet and pressing play on the playlist Q had made, the one he’d been listening to when Q had been taken, labeled “Quiet Time” and filled with instrumentals and Melody Gardot. 

The opening strains of an orchestral version of Peter Gabriel’s ‘Solsbury Hill’ began, and James had to chuckle to himself at the strange tastes of his Quartermaster. 

Surveying the contents of Q's fridge, James began making a mental list for what all he'd need in the next few days. Q liked soups, but James had a sneaking suspicion that he'd be better off waiting on making him any until the doctors lowered the dosage of the pain medication: from personal experience, James hadn't wanted to eat anything solid in face of that for days. 

From the careful catalog of pictures he'd had Eve take of Q's kitchen supplies, James knew where to find the pots, that Q had a proper casserole dish, and more types of pasta than James had even been aware of existing. 

It wasn't standard English fare, but James had spent a draggingly long two months in America the year before, and had rather liked Felix Leiter's wife's macaroni and cheese. James gathered what ingredients Q had, pulling up the webpage for the nearest grocer's for the rest. 

Order completed, James looked back to the figure on the bed, the meditative slant of the next song on the playlist pulling him into a strange, disconnected peace. There was no denying that, in another life, Q may have been right to worry about James's willingness to become his personal protector; but it was something deep within James, to protect that which he loved. He'd failed Vesper, and M, but James knew that he would die before failing Q. 

Alec knocked softly, and James ushered him in quietly, taking the duffle bag of his things and setting it beside the smaller overnight bag on the couch. 

"How are you doing?" 

"Fair enough." James shrugged, glancing quickly at Q to make sure he didn't stir. "All's been quiet." 

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." 

James shifted his weight, taking a deep breath as he regarded his oldest friend, “You think it’s a mistake to do this?” 

Alec’s grey eyes raked over the flat, his expression utterly neutral. “No. Not really. I will admit, I was shocked, but if you hadn’t, I might’ve. I am…concerned about you, though.” James levelled his gaze to Alec’s, the deal for honesty and trust between the two old friends standing strong after over a decade of relying on themselves and each other and very little else. “You’re all or nothing, James. You have a habit of giving what you want everything you have and leaving nothing of yourself behind. He knows this as well as I do. Have you thought about what would be left for you if you lost him?” 

It was mirror James couldn’t avoid: a question he had to face. “What did I have before him but adrenaline and alcoholism, Alec? This is the life I chose, and I would make that choice every time—but dying in the name of Queen and country is the only way it would ever end.” 

“What end do you have now?” 

James looked away from Alec then, turning his eyes to Q, frowning softly propped against his pillows, “If I play my cards right? Days spent making tea and advising missions and nights coaxing that gorgeous creature into my bed.” 

Alec huffed, shaking his head. “I have to say, I envy you. He loves you in a way I didn’t think was possible for people like us.” 

“If I’d never realized it…” 

“He would’ve loved you to your death, and then I would have tried to talk him into maybe dating an actuary.” 

“Why an actuary?” 

Alec shrugged, leaning against the counter with a smirk, “Seemed like a safe bet.”


	26. It Just Isn’t Fair

It was something of a complete mystery to James how Mallory had quite pulled it off, but Q took the time off required of him for his recuperation with only minimal grumbling. Effectively ensconcing James and Q into Q’s flat with not much to do but be together for the duration. 

Needling James into reading one of the trashy spy novels given to Q as a gag-gift by M when he had first been promoted to Quartermaster, Q had almost laughed himself sick when James had then gone out and gotten more, thoroughly enjoying the blatant awfulness. They took to taking turns reading them aloud to each other as James cooked or Q coded some civilian side-projects. James went for a run each morning, before Q would wake from the fog the nighttime drugs left him in, and then come home to make a breakfast Q might be able to handle, as Q didn’t often want to eat breakfast, even when he was out of the proverbial woods of one of his spirals. 

The doctors changed and lowered the pain medication, and for two days Q couldn’t keep food down. James made him a chicken soup from Mary’s recipe on the second night, and when Q drank it all without incident, James made a mental note to get Mary a bouquet the size of Q in thanks. 

The stream of Double-Oh visitors continued: David, before he was sent back out with his healed cheek now fully healed, Peggy with snickerdoodles and a dislocated knee from her last foray, Thalia with the worst bruises James had ever seen spread across the entirety of her back from landing on her back after she’d leapt off a building, and Alec to wheedle Q to give him something cool as he had for James before Alec was sent to go pull Marc’s arse from the fire in Bangkok. The talk of a new Double-Oh to take on the long-empty slot of 003 was met with a scoff from Q, the young man taking it all as the wild speculation it was. 

“Technically, I’m eligible for Double-Oh status.” Q told James one night, after Mary had left them. Q still had a lipstick mark on his forehead and James was sure there was one on his cheek to match. 

“Does a car crash count?” 

“Only one died in the crash, James.” Q told him with no small amount of admonishment. James hadn’t actually read the report of the crash, though he should have over the course of his investigation, he knew. “One was shot with her own gun, and the other was strangled to death with a pair of handcuffs pressed into use as a garrotte.” 

James put down his mixing spoon, looking over to Q, and he didn’t know how on earth he’d gotten lucky enough for this man to exist, let alone be his. 

“Mallory is likely to want me to become head of the department.” Q sighed. 

“He truly has no proper idea of what he does to you, does he?” 

Q barked a laugh, “I miss M most when he asks me to do something humanly impossible. She handled you lot for the old Q, and more than likely would have continued to for me, after she had me bait you in the Gallery.” 

James turned from the cook top to look at Q with as pinning a gaze as he could, “You _were_ bait. I thought you were an art student looking for a sugar daddy when you first sat down. Had you opened with anything but the comment about scrap, I might have slipped you my number.” 

Q laughed, bright and happy, “I can’t picture you as willingly becoming anyone’s sugar daddy, Bond.” 

James bit back the admission that he fully intended on becoming just that for Q despite the scrap comment. Instead, James added a sprinkling of thyme to the stew. Q hummed happily when James crossed to stand behind him, hands folding around Q’s shoulders for a massage. “How are you feeling?” James asked, voice husky and low, enough to shudder through Q‘s spine. 

Physical therapy was never easy, and James felt particularly protective of Q’s process with it. “I’m okay.” Q sighed, dropping his head back against James’s forearm. “Tired." 

The silence between them stretched as James put the finishing touches on dinner and served. 

As James set the plates on the table, Q grabbed his hand, the cool digits lightly calloused as they closed around James's blunter weapons. Q looked up at him with eyes laid open and bare, and James couldn't stop himself from rocking forward and kissing Q immediately. "If I promise to put and keep a bolster between us, will you come to bed with me?" Q asked when James allowed him the breath to manage it. 

Pressing a kiss to Q's forehead, James hummed a low rumble of sound that had Q's thumb tracing the lines in his palm. "We haven't really been bed-partners, Q. I'm dangerous in my sleep." The truth of the statement gave Q pause, his lips softly parting even as his hand tightened around James's, joined by the other. "It's better for both of us—particularly while you're healing still—if I sleep on the couch. I refuse to wake up with my hands holding a gun to your head." Dropping another kiss to his curls, James gently pried his hand from Q's, moving to sit catty-corner to the man with his own bowl. 

"Should I buy a second bed?" Q asked softly, trying to hide his disappointment. 

James had a suspicion that the tactile nature of his boffin was what caused that sadness. He loved the touch-neediness of the other man; it was a need he found himself particularly eager to fill, because while James had had plenty of touch in the past, it had never been with someone as trusted and trusting as Q. In a way, James was just as starved for honest affection as Q was. James didn’t want to entertain the very real likelihood that he would come to disappoint the Quartermaster in this, so he allowed himself to deflect, if only a little, “I had thought it’d take rather more convincing before you let me move in.” 

The gentle tease fell flat against Q’s honest steadiness, his eyes saddening further because James was trying to avoid the question. 

“I want to sleep beside you and wake with your skin to mine, Q,” James admitted quietly after a moment, “there’s very little I like more than touching you, I think we’ve established that much…but I am a danger I’m not sure how to protect against—and as much as I would love to believe that how much I love you would prove proof enough against my demons, I’m not willing to risk you to that belief. The nights we slept together,” James paused, considering how to phrase his thoughts, “I’ve trained myself, for lack of a better word, not to immediately attack after…” Here, James lost his words. What he and Q had done over the weekend of joy they’d managed before he’d been kidnapped had undeniably been true intimacy in a way that James had _never_ gotten to experience: They’d made love, but what James had trained himself with was meaningless sex. 

“Physical exhaustion…it helps?” Q confirmed softly. James gave a noncommittal jerk of the head, and knew that Q understood despite his lack. 

“I won’t say never, Q: you’re clever enough to think of something, I’m sure, and I’m stubborn enough that giving you whatever you want is going to become my full-time job…but you’re injured already, and I can’t be the cause of you getting hurt any worse.” 

Q nodded, smiling just slightly as he reached for James’s hand. James got the sense that Q wouldn’t end up eating; that there was something in the admission that Q had taken to be a failure on his part and the perceived misstep had soured what little appetite Q had.

James wasn’t sure how to express that none of it was Q’s fault; wasn’t sure how on Earth Q’s mind had managed to jump to that conclusion, but he took Q’s hand and held it like a lifeline. “May I hold you until you fall asleep tonight?” 

Q’s eyes became wet, but he nodded his assent silently. James felt as if he’d caused the end of the world to see Q’s dark eyes filled, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. 

“What can I do, love?” James asked finally, drawing a blank. Q wasn’t crying, but he was close to it, and he blinked at James as if confused. 

Q shook his head that there was nothing to be done, and James’s mouth tightened. “I shouldn’t have asked—“ 

“Of course you should have, Q.” James cut him off, on edge because he’d hurt Q and getting irritable with the return of the _yearning_ to find and murder whoever it was who’d taught Q that he couldn’t ask for what he needed or wanted. “Ask me, always. The worst that will happen is that I won’t answer.” 

James slid out of his seat, food uneaten, and tugged Q with him towards the couch. Q resisted slightly, angling himself to protest that James needed to eat, but James sat and urged Q down against his side, tucking him into his arms. Q’s hand curled around his bicep, his head burrowing against James’s shoulder as James wrapped around him and held him fast. 

“Years ago,” James began, voice hushed in deference to the story he was about to tell, “there was a beautiful, clever woman who broke down the walls I had built to become a Double-Oh. She baited and belittled me into showing the man beneath the armour, and then she betrayed me. It wasn’t simply a betrayal of taking the money for Quantum…that wasn’t her true betrayal. Her true betrayal was when she locked herself into the elevator carriage, and left me to watch her drown.” Q was tense in his arms, breath held as he listened to the story James hadn’t even told M. “I tried to save her—I could have saved her. She wouldn’t let me.” James took a small breath, feeling oddly detached from the memory as Q shook in his arms with a mixture of sympathetic grief and rage. “And now I find myself holding onto a man who has helped patch up what wounds have festered under my armour…who’s lifted the weight of it from me with an understanding that I didn’t comprehend until the other Double-Ohs practically beat me to death with it. I took my armour off without realizing I’d done it, and you built something better for me.” James spread his hand over Q’s cheek, pressing a fervent kiss to his curls. “The worst I will ever do when you ask a question is choose not to answer, Q. I don’t think I could stand under the weight of my armour any longer, and I’ve no intention of trying.” 

_I will not lie to you,_ James was saying, _I trust you._

There was wet on Q’s eyelashes now when Q pulled away from James’s shoulder, and James pressed the softest of kisses to each lid as he removed Q’s specs. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” James whispered as he came to realize the truth of that sentiment. Vesper had hurt him in ways he’d never expected to recover from—but time had dulled the ache, and now, knowing what it was to be supported and loved had healed the last of the scars to the white lines of a tribulation survived. 

A tear ran down Q’s cheek, and James brushed the wet away with a never ending tenderness. “You’re far too beautiful for me, you do realize that, right?” Q asked, and James grinned, leaning his forehead against Q’s.


	27. Veins Are Seething

The op was meant to be a simple retrieval of information for Thalia. Q was cloistered in his office with Boothroyd's old papers; James acting as his runner to get rid of the papers he'd processed, bring him tea, and coax him to take breaks and try to eat. Q wasn't meant to be on the comms. 

It went very wrong very quickly. 

The tell of it is simple: Q-Branch goes from its usual bustle, to a stillness much like the breathless instant between standing on steady ground and choosing to plummet. James has never seen this part in the past; he's never been in Q-Branch as an agent is lost. 

"Q," Mary appeared at the door of his office, and Q is on his feet, neglecting to pick up the crutches he knocked over and limping across the room as three of the piles of paper flood over the floor. James, frozen at the look on Mary's face and taking over Q's eyes, only remembered to catch up and support Q when he and Mary were out of the doorway. James's hand seized around Q's arm when they reached Mary's chair, folding him into the seat as Q's shaking hands reached for the comms. 

"Thali?" Q questioned. 

There's a huff of breath that James knew had to be painful, as if Thalia was trying to put on a happy face for her favourite boffin. _"Hey, gorgeous. It's good to hear your voice."_

A building had collapsed on her; there was no chance that anything could be done as the CCTV of surrounding areas displays the wreckage, and the feed from the camera Thalia carried showed the rebar protruding from her torso, nearly bisecting her. James didn't know how she was conscious; didn't question it, really. If it were him, he'd be holding on to listen to Q's voice one last time, too. 

_"I'm gonna miss you, baby."_ Thalia told him, and Q looked like he'd been the one impaled for all of ten seconds before a mask shuttered into place. 

"You're going to be fine, 002, or I'm going to personally cross the Styx and drag you back. You bloody agents are all so fucking stubborn, you can make it until help arrives." Q's voice was smooth and snarky as ever, and James knew that was exactly what Thalia would need to hear: that Q was going to be alright. But James also knew that it was an act. 

_"Is James there?"_

"I am, Thalia." James replied immediately. 

_"You take care of him, James, or I'll find a way to kill you that'll stick."_ Thalia's voice was getting wet and thready. James wanted to reach for Q's hand, but he knew that the gesture wouldn't be welcome. 

"I'll thank you not to treat me like a child, Miss Dreer." 

_"Sorry, boss."_ Thalia was slipping, and James felt himself go tense as if preparing for a crash. _"Love you, Q."_

There were no tears yet, but James could practically feel the undertow of grief building behind Q's mask, "I love you, too, Thali. I'm going to get you home."

The flatline came just moments later, and Mary's hand gripped James's shoulder, the both of them in a holding pattern of wanting to but resisting the urge to touch Q, to hold him close. Mary was trembling slightly, her tears flowing freely as she watched Q guide the rescue teams to Thalia. 

Q-Branch continued to hold its breath, the death of Thalia not the fall they knew was coming. 

"What happened?" Q asked the Branch at large, his tone impossibly steady. 

"Drone strike." One of the boffins answered, "We...we don't know what triggered it." 

Q looked up from the computer monitor to his gathered branch, the blue light casting him as a dark, avenging angel as his level voice issued a single order. "Find it."


	28. Please Remember There’s An Always-Open Door

It took a week. 

Q wasn’t supposed to be involved in it, but Moneypenny and Tanner were of the firm belief that what Mallory doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and so Q quietly tumbled dominoes until he found the traitor who sold Thalia’s mission out to the gun runners she was sent to get intel on. When the picture slotted into place once Q had rained bloody vengeance from half the world away, James couldn’t help but try and fail to reconcile the image of the man who cried for James’s pain at the story of Vesper, and the indomitable force of violence and brutality that had burned the gun runners, their suppliers, and their customers to ash, heedless of whether they were meant to be friend or foe. 

A good deal of why Mallory didn’t know was because Q was very politic about his bloodbaths: rather than drop a bomb, Q poisoned food supplies; instead of bullets, Q fired off information that painted supposed allies into enemies and began bloody battles; rather than the slip of a knife, Q extracted his cold retaliation in “accidental” electrocutions and the resultant fires. If the oversight boards could see what utter destruction Q wrought in complete silence, James knew Q would be necessarily taken out, for the protection of the world. 

Q had become cold to the touch at all times; the chill stealing over him like death, and James loathed it with every fibre of his being. When James brought Q a black suit and a red poppy, Q silently dressed with James standing sentinel to him in his office, the injury of his leg forced away by Q’s complete indifference to taking care of himself. When fury was no longer the fuel of him, James knew the injury would likely cause Q some trouble; but James had his hands full with making sure Q and Q-Branch _ate_ , let alone that they let themselves sleep. 

The first time James found Mary working over Zinnia’s unconscious form, apparently not noticing her underling’s exhaustion or her own, James knew that it would fall to everyone else to keep their boffins alive. 

In that endeavour, Moneypenny proved invaluable, as she usually did. She and James had taken to sitting in Q’s office while the man worked without appearing to notice either of them. They discussed the careful care James had arranged for the other Double-Ohs to give to the boffins; then the strict limitations Q had placed on what care James was allowed to take of him while he worked. It was madness, and James was thankful that Charlie’s loss and 003’s had been so straightforward in their vengeances. He missed Q; didn’t know for how long he could withstand this husk of the man. 

Q stood at James’s side for the funeral, but he wasn’t truly there, it was plain to anyone who looked. Afterwards, Q back in his office and the Branch, for once, barely occupied, Alec came to join James at one of the minions’ desks, the two Double-Ohs turned to watch Q through the glass walls he hadn’t bothered to turn opaque. 

“I don’t know what to do,” James admitted as Alec poured them each a drink. 

“There’s very little any of us can do until it’s done.” Alec replied, as if he’d seen this feverish madness before. “You’re getting him to eat and if you’re here for the fallout, it’s the most anyone could do for him now.” 

“Do you know what Tanner is doing to keep Mallory in the dark?” 

“God, no. I don’t want to. I learned not to underestimate Tanner after he drove that bloke in Accounting to suicide by way of burying the arsehole in so much red tape and paperwork that he cracked.” James turned to look confusedly at his oldest friend, Alec grinned, “The guy was harassing every woman in the executive branch…this was just after Skyfall, during the re-structure. Q offered to rig something to quietly make him impotent, but Tanner wanted him fully gone. We didn’t have the manpower to justify a dismissal, none of the women would go on-record—so Tanner created a bureaucratic, Escher-like Hell.” Alec’s lips quirked, “I only found out about it because Moneypants was friends with one of the victims, and I bore witness to Eve planting one on Bill in thanks the morning after his body was found.” 

“You can kill someone…with paperwork…” James mumbled slowly, feeling wrong-footed in the extreme. 

“Well, you couldn’t.” Alec contradicted. “But Bill Tanner can.” 

Alec and he drank through the bottle of scotch, then the bottle of vodka, and when Q’s head hung over his work, they both moved to slip into the office. Alec set up a medical cot in the midst of the fire hazard of paperwork, while James got Q standing long enough to remove his trousers and jacket. James had brought Mary’s gifted quilt, and Alec tucked it around them when James laid on the cot holding Q against him. 

“Thank you…” Q mumbled, half-unconscious, and Alec passed a hand through his hair. 

“For you, the world.” Alec promised as he passed to the wall controls and triggered the glass walls to turn opaque, lowering the lights as he slipped out of the door of the office and left James to his vigil while Q finally, finally slept in his arms. 

James wasn’t asleep when Q woke with a gasp only two hours later, but he didn’t move as Q shook and clutched at his sides, his tears finally coming. James let Q cling to him for long minutes before he allowed himself to reach up with one hand, burying his hand in Q’s curls and letting the pain of Q’s desperate gasping rend his heart in two. Q tried to pull away, to contain the tempest tearing him apart—James wouldn’t let him. James pet through Q’s curls with firm strokes, wrapping his other arm around Q’s shaking shoulders and pinning him against James’s chest. The weak struggle stopped, and Q’s hands were once more clinging to James. 

Keeping silent on the comforts and promises that would only feel like empty words, James held Q and wouldn’t let him go as Q broke in his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” Q finally managed to get out between gasping sobs. James didn’t respond; knows better than to try to _tell_ Q that he has nothing to be sorry for, not when he knows the words won’t work. Instead, James continued to pet through Q’s hair, rub the tension from his neck. He kept his breathing deep and even, giving Q something to match his own against. “You sh-shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

James closed his eyes, not tightening or loosening his hold; just breathing in the darkness and quiet, ready to face Q’s grief as he would an enemy. Pulling the quilt tighter around Q as he began to shake slightly, James bent his legs slightly, settling Q between them as he tried to give more of his own warmth to Q’s cold skin. 

Q shifted in his arms, and James gently urged him further up, letting his tired, wet eyes tuck, closed, against the skin of his throat as James’s hand ran up and down Q’s back. Slowly, Q went lax, but James could tell from his hitching breaths that sleep was not in the cards. “I love you.” Q whimpered, quiet as if scared to be heard. 

“I love you, too.” James replied, voice strong in the hush. It was the first thing James had actually said to Q in days, and Q curled into his hold as if the sound of his voice was a beacon in the dark. 

“You don’t have to—“ 

James shushed his words, holding him fast, “I love you.” He told Q again, the words said with simple truth; with a trust that they wouldn’t prove to hurt James in the end. 

If Q had more negations to make, he didn’t give them voice, and together this time, James and he fell asleep.


	29. What Do You Want From Me? Why Don't You Run From Me?

James was well aware that he was going to end up with his head on a pike in the middle of Q-Branch; an object lesson for everyone to take to heart _not to ever do what he was about to do_. 

It wasn't the fact that he technically wasn't supposed to be there; or that he was risking Q's job by being there--it was the fact that he carried a weapon that Q had not created and given to him. 

_"James..."_ Q growled in his earpiece as he both listened and broadcast back to Q what was being said. 

"I'm sorry, love, but when I couldn't get in the building, I had to improvise." He sounded slightly wheedling, hopeful that maybe it would be his head on the pike, and not his balls. 

_"They're planning on blowing the arena. Tell me you still have the gun_ I _gave you; the sight for that one is blue light: hardly something one would miss while you're getting a bead on them."_

Receiving the video tape of M—his M—had been startling: that she'd had one last mission for him had set Q to laughing himself sick until he'd gotten to work on getting James into Mexico City, despite the call for James's full re-instatement to the Programme while they were three Double-Ohs down. The other Double-Ohs had no qualms about James continuing to care for and protect Q; but it was easy to understand the drive of Mallory and the other executives. 

James listened to the conversation in the flat across the street from the roof on which he hid, the tapping of Q's fingers on the keyboard in London falling on him like a soothing rain as Q pulled up as much information on what they spoke of as could be found. _"James, we need to be smart about this."_

"What do you recommend, Q? That we let them blow up the arena?" James growled, rolling his eyes. 

_"Yes, because I would ask you to bloody_ leave thousands dead _as collateral fucking damage, you prick.”_ Q seethed, _“No, what I fucking recommend is taking them out now, and getting the goddamned bomb disassembled enough to be getting on with!”_

James couldn't help his smile; the fire in Q a comfort, and something he wanted to stoke until it had burned away the pain that had been weighing the man down. "Do we have enough to be getting on with, then?" 

_"They're moving, you prat: Take the bloody shot."_

Stifling a laugh, James pulled the gun that Q had built for him, getting a bead on the nearest to the door. There was immediately chaos, and James couldn't stop his smile. The third shot was the undoing: the man nearest the bomb picking it up in front of James's shot, and as his bullet hit, the explosive blew. _"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."_ Q breathed, his snark and his usual cool disposition shattered as the building began to crumble, and James turned to flee. 

As the debris began to tip forward, James had a terrifying thought that despite his efforts to protect him, Q might well end up listening to him die. The building he's running on began to crumble out from under him, and James could only wish he'd taken out his earpiece: the memory of Thalia's death all too close when gravity was about to wrap its crushing fingers around him and pull. Taking a frantic leap off the roof disappearing from beneath his feet as it cracked mightily before him, James just barely caught himself by the fingertips on the jagged edge of the shattered concrete. 

Calculating for the barest of moments, James cast a glance over his shoulder to confirm there was still a floor for him to land on, and chose to release his grip, sliding to the floor below—only to have a clatter of rubble hit the edge clinging to the wall, this floor about to disappear from beneath him just as completely as the roof had. James quick-stepped towards the wall as it crumbled, managing between a grip on a wall-mounted candelabra and a tiny ledge left on the floor below to halt his downward progression. 

That the fastenings to the wall snapped, James really should have seen: the fall twisting James’s insides in a helpless panic, Q’s silence in his ear nearly damnable. 

James landed onto a dust-covered green couch, candelabra clutched still in his hand, and as the dust drifted around him, James realized that the silence spoke more of a mute button than it would of Q’s grief, disapproval, or anxiety. 

“Q?” James asked, coughing slightly as he blinked through the cloud of debris. James’s earpiece clicked a Morse “Y”, and James huffed, “Is it damaged?” 

All he received back was a Morse “N”, and James filed that away as he hurried towards the shattered remains of the building that had blown, hoping a cover of searching for survivors would excuse the opportunity to search for Sicarro and the ring. 

“A little help?” James grunted as he unsteadily made his way through the destruction. 

_”I think you broke me.”_ Q panted, voice high with his laughter. 

James very nearly paused at the sound of Q's mirth, but he had to admit, even if it was somewhat suicidal, that it was damn good to hear. 

_"To confirm, are you injured?"_ Q sounded like he was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, and James almost cracked a grin, despite the suspicion it would cause if anyone was close enough to see it. 

"No...Maybe a bruise or two, but nothing terrible." In truth, his shoulder was aching slightly, but that was nothing really new, considering the damage that had already been done to it. "Any signs of life you can read from those fancy satellites of yours?" 

Q heaved a dramatic sigh, _"Does anyone actually bloody believe your I'm-just-an-innocently-dumb-blond schtick, 007?"_

Huffing a breath--as close as James would allow himself to a laugh--James shifted through the wreckage. 

_"I'm not using those satellites: we both know I should be, but because we had to make this believable--because_ you bloody **resigned** to become my glorified **babysitter** \-- _we don't have clearance to use those satellites."_ Throughout Q's tirade, a message in Morse was picked out in static, and James had to actually bite his lip in order not to smile at the bloody cheek of the man he was in love with. _No signs of life. Proceed._

James grit his teeth at the strain as he shifted some larger slabs of the ruins, trying not to smile as Q sighed, clearly knowing that he was overdoing it. 

_"If you kill yourself from strain, old man, I will find a younger, hotter version of you and bloody well marry him."_

Civilians descended on the scene to help in the supposed search for survivors, but James managed to murmur, "Q, there is no hotter version of me."


	30. The Reason That I'm Hanging On

The front door was a welcome sight to his aching eyes. Particularly when it opened before he could even reach for it, tired green eyes laying him bare at a glance before the skinny frame of his lover was folding into his arms. 

"I saw you...but I was worried." Q admitted from his chest, muffled but oh-so warm and welcome. 

"A little soreness, love, nothing more. I did read that treatise of Boothroyd's detailing what death by over-exertion would entail." James pressed his face into Q's curls, breathing deep the lightly floral scent of the product Q had used. It was deliciously soft, and James felt the remaining tension roll out of his shoulders as he breathed Q in. 

Q urged him into the flat with gentle touches, intent clear enough that James removed his jacket and began work on his buttons before Q had even closed the door behind them. "Bath, or shower?" Q asked quietly as James took off his shirt; the touch of his hand soft on James's skin in a way that James hadn't gotten used to. Using the gentle pressure of his hand on James's waist, Q turned James to face him, eyes tracking over his body with a care that bore no artifice: Q would see him patched up before he would consider laying anything but quiet and steadfast support at James's feet. 

"Whichever you decide. I find myself unwilling to even temporarily let you go." James told him, pulling Q into his arms again. Q brushed a kiss over his scarred shoulder, tucking his face against James's throat, and James let the comforting solidness of Q's bony body settle into his very being. 

"James...things are happening. I've had Q-Branch moved. MI6 and MI5 are headed for a collision course...and there's a new player encouraging a so-called “merger”, Max Denbigh--there's something off." Q murmured, looking completely unwilling to give voice to the words. 

"Q," James urged quietly, reaching to gently brush his fingers over the line of Q's jaw, urging his eyes to meet James's. 

"Denbigh wants to be rid of the Double-Oh Programme, James. And the mess in Mexico has given him a very good reason to." Q took a slow breath, and his eyes darted away again. 

"Tell me." Stroking his fingers over Q's cheek, James pulled Q into his arms further, taking the pressure of his gaze from the table in doing so. 

"I was working on something...SmartBlood, a tracker that can't be removed." 

"Mallory intends to put me on a leash." James reasoned. Q flinched in his arms, and James rubbed a hand up and down his back before pulling far enough away to catch his eye once again, "You can still make me disappear?" 

"Yes," There was more that Q wasn't saying, and James felt a particular kind of loathing welling up within him at the thought of Q putting his career any further on the line than they had already. "How long do you need?" 

James could feel the tension in Q's frame, and the exhaustion; and there was nothing more that James wanted in that moment than to worship Q in the bath, and lay him down in their bed, mission be damned. Perhaps he really was getting old. "Not right now. You've been working yourself ragged these last few weeks, and I would very much like to take care of you; to be home, without everything bloody else." 

Q blinked, but nodded, his anxiety still clearly buzzing beneath the surface. Their hands folded together, and James drew Q along with him to the bathroom, wanting to carry the slighter man if only to feel the solidness of him in his arms. James knew that he would have to try to ease Q’s anxiety as much as he possibly could before Q would get any rest at all—if either of them would manage to get rest, on the precipice of a mission that could very well see them both dead. 

“Pizza, then a shower, and I would very much like to fall asleep with you in my arms.” James negotiated, stealing kisses from Q’s curls and forehead, the shell of his ear. 

Looking at James through heavy eyes, Q asked the question with little more than a twitch of his head. James’s reluctance to have shared a bed with him had been a valid concern, after all, and though they had shared the cot in Q’s office, they had not broached the issue again, falling back to the careful routine of James holding Q until he fell as asleep as he could get, before James would remove himself for the couch. Q hadn’t hidden that he was looking at buying a second bed, but he hadn’t brought it up, either, and James had never been quite so touched by the quiet care of another person. 

“If I have a nightmare, don’t try to wake me, even if I’m hurting myself.” James pet through Q’s curls, palms fitting soft against his jaw, “Are you willing to try?” 

Q’s fingers had knotted in the sleeves of his shirt, his grip on James’s arms almost desperate. Nodding, Q let himself be pulled into James’s chest once more. “Order the food. I’ll get the medkit, I want to take a look at you.” James curled a finger under Q’s chin, tipping his head up, his thumb drawing just beneath Q’s lower lip in a silent request for permission. Q rocked into him slightly, kissing him gently, though James could feel the same ferocity that had had Q’s grip on his arms so desperate bubbling just beneath the surface of the quiet pliancy of Q’s mouth. James wondered how he could coax Q’s fire free, but had the sense that it wasn’t the time to try. 

Stripping off his kit, James winced slightly as he moved his shoulder, thankful that Q's back was to him as he took off his shirt a little more gingerly than he had his jacket. James pulled his mobile out of his pocket before draping the jacket over the back of one of Q's chairs. His shirt was ruined; the scrapes had rubbed themselves back open during his trek home; and try as he might, James had yet to find an effective stain remover for blood. 

Calling for the pizza, James didn't turn at the hiss of sympathetic pain as Q took in the bruises bloomed over James's back. Q set the kit on the table, his hand hesitating above James's hip as if afraid the simple brush of his skin was going to actually hurt James. James's hand caught Q's as if catching a bird taking flight, lightly but inextricably; to guide Q's hand against his skin, putting more pressure into it than Q would have if he hadn't hesitated, and turning his head to look steadily into Q's eyes. 

"You won't hurt me." James told him softly, then put on a mask of distaste, "Well, you may if you continue your sadistic streak when it comes to the application of the bloody alcohol wipes, but yes, I do know that you have to use the damned things if I want everything to be properly cleaned." 

Q rolled his eyes, but his smile was only barely at the corner of his mouth, "Tell me you got rid of that suit. I'm fairly certain that there's no way to get that much dust out of the fabric." 

"I did, but more for the blood in the fabric than the dust." Q's hand shifted in his, laying his hand flat, palm-up, to analyze the damage he felt beneath his fingers. James had been a little careless in moving the rubble in order to find the ring he'd noticed on Sciarra's hand, and it showed in the damage done to his hands and up his forearms. 

"Y-Your gun, did it still work?" Q asked, blinking up at him as if he'd had to tear himself out of the spiral of his thoughts. 

James reached for where he'd laid his customary shoulder holster on the table, drawing the gun and letting Q observe the lights turn green. "Your other gun, and the one I had to talk the CIA into giving me, were unfortunately casualties of the collapse." Q nodded distractedly, a moue of displeasure teasing at his mouth, and a frown beginning to etch in a line between his brows. 

"This...This is the gun you took from my safe. This is my prototype, not your standard kit." Q seemed somewhere between chastising and lost in thought. 

"R and Zinnia didn't seem to know why you were working on another gun for me--" 

"With the way you bloody lose them, James, it's always a good idea to have another ready." Q huffed, shaking his head. James laid the gun in Q's hands, eyes still bright with curiosity. "I...You lot damage your hands enough that I knew I had to make you something that would account for that. This one doesn't work by palmprint." 

"Ingenious." James murmured, and Q very nearly fidgeted under his gaze. 

"I should have double-checked your kit--sending you out with tech that's not been completely proven is as good as sending you out with nothing at all. Forgive me." 

James took the gun, setting it on the table hurriedly in order to catch Q's fluttering hands again. "It worked well enough to get me through your kidnapping, if that helps with proving your genius." Drifting further into Q's space, James brushed the mostly-intact skin of the backs of his fingers over Q's cheek, "What's changed, love?" James found himself asking, though he'd intended to leave Q's secrets until he was willing to share them. With each passing moment, however, it felt as if there was a growing chasm between them. 

Q's eyes drifted closed, and James waited, the hand still holding Q's wrist folding gently around his hand. "This...is bigger than I thought. With the...the distraction for Mallory--Denbigh wants the world's combined technological defenses at his fingertips, and he wants _me_ , has been chasing me for a while--M had to scare MI5 _off my bloody back_ for fuck's sake, but if Denbigh does this, and I'm right about him, then the whole world will be dealt a crippling blow. If Mallory's orders come down from on high, and I have to put the SmartBlood into you...I can only buy you so much time, and it won't--" 

"Q," James murmured softly, cutting off the spiral of fear, "tell me the truth here, now: Do you need me to stay, to face this with you?" 

Green-grey eyes looked up at him, obscured slightly by the upper rim of his glasses, and James laid his features purposefully open for Q to see: James would absolutely end the hunt he was on to be there while their world crashed around them. He wouldn't have, if it was anyone but Q for him to be staying for. "You have to finish this...M gave you an order, 007, and if we're right, then there is no other time we will ever have to see this through." James waited, his gaze steady on Q as he tried to build up some of the detached professionalism that he had always worn for James's missions. "You have far more important things to worry about than fretting with me." 

Tangling his fingers in Q's hair, he tugged gently, raising Q's chin in a poor imitation of his defiance and cockiness. It was on the tip of James's tongue to tell Q that there was nothing more important to James than Q, but the words would only serve to make Q edgier. James let Q extricate himself, turning to the medkit to start dressing the worst of the scrapes, which were irritating enough to somehow be worse than getting shot. 

"Thirty minutes until pizza?" 

"Mm-hm. Basil, garlic, and fresh mozzarella." 

Q almost purred, but he gave a playfully chastising glance over his shoulder, "You didn't have to get my comfort food." 

"I find your comfort food comforting, Q." James replied with a hint of a smile as Q turned to him with the dreaded alcohol swabs. Q was wincing before he even touched the swab to James's skin. 

"Hopefully we'll be done before food gets here. I'm not a fan of you being ogled by the people who regularly deliver our food." 

James laughed softly, the sting of the alcohol set aside with the gentle care Q was taking to clean the wounds of the grit that James had had to shower three times not to feel like he was still covered in the stuff. "Q...This mission--" 

"May require you to use your cock as an interrogation technique. Yes, I'm aware." Q murmured, sounding somewhere between annoyed and amused, "You are rather limited in your creativity in that regard, James." 

"I don't--I wouldn't..." James realized that for all his skill in language, he didn't have the vocabulary to put to words what he wanted to get across. 

"You'll fumigate yourself before returning to my bed, and if you think for even a moment of haring off with some tart, I really will ruin your credit and the credit of every one of the aliases you've been ferreting money to for a rainy day." 

Brows raising, James pursed his lips together for a moment; not really surprised that Q would have his modus operandi pegged so easily when it came to James’s potential retirement plans. "I don't want anyone but you." James told him. 

Q heaved a small sigh, glancing at his face almost disappointedly. 

"What?" 

"I really hate to think of what it would be like to force myself to sleep with someone." 

James swallowed, throat clicking slightly, "I used to enjoy it." The admission was breathed between them, and Q didn't turn a hair. "Even when it wasn't necessarily enjoyable, when it was with someone I wouldn't ever want...there was a thrill to getting what I was after with nothing but another person’s desire. …Please, do not ever mention this to Psych.” 

Q snorted, “I have several far better things for you to do than be trapped in their slimy claws, Bond. Though, when this is over, if you don’t actually take the time to heal, I will let them have at you. I don’t have to tell them that you might be a bit twisted; they’ve been trying to get me to agree to letting them near you for the last year.” 

It had been a slight wonder, if it was his own skill at dodging them or if Psych was getting sloppier in trying to find him. That he was actually being protected from them somehow didn’t sit oddly at all. “You were the victim of a kidnapping and a kidnapping attempt; one would think you’re the one that needs protecting.” 

Humming as he began delicately applying bandages, Q’s lips turned up in the hint of a smile. “You are not the only one who knows how to manipulate their findings. Though you are the only one of the two of us with a history of making his psychs cry.” 

“No, you’re all birdlike bones and kind eyes and a graceful aloofness until they forget that you killed three people and were flagged in Medical for exhaustion and malnutrition.” James’s voice was suffused with fondness and amusement in equal measure, even to his own ears. 

Q smiled a quicksilver smile, and James adored him with every fibre of his being. “At this point, I rather feel like talking about it would be akin to opening Pandora’s box and stepping in with the horrors.” 

“Could I tempt you into a marathon snogging session before bed?” The change in subject was met with another quicksilver smile, though this one lingered longer than its predecessor as Q stripped off the plastic gloves and cupped his cool hands around James’s cheeks. 

“Only snogging?” 

“I’d hate to be presumptuous—“ 

Q snorted, rolling his eyes, “Everything about you is presumptuous.” 

Wrapping his arms around Q’s waist, James took what he was allowed for the moment with both hands and no regrets; greedy for more, but not ever demanding it. Q needed to eat, and so clothes had to remain on one of them until the food came; Q needed to relax from his muscles being braced as if from impact for the impending doom of their lives as they knew them, and so James would ply those muscles with soft touches and hot water until they had eased enough for him to lay Q out properly and massage away the damage done. Most likely, Q would object to the slant of James’s thoughts: that Q was the epicentre of care for each part of the plan, but James had never been taken care of in the way that he was planning on taking care of Q, and had no idea how to go about taking care of himself in that way. So he would take care of himself by taking care of Q. 

“There is one thing I ought to warn you about—one thing that’s certain, when it comes to Mallory’s feelings on the job in Mexico. I…before all this started…had been building you a car.” James jerked back, brows skyrocketing. “DB10. Your DB5 is still…well, I did say to bring it back in one piece, not “bring back one piece”, James.” 

James huffed, but the words fully registered, “Wait…are you…are you trying to fix the DB5?” 

“Of course. It was yours. It was something that made you happy.” 

James’s arms slid further around Q’s waist, his loose hold banding around the slighter man until Q was fully dragged against his body, the slant of the way James had been leaning resulting in Q’s toes barely touching the ground as James pulled him into the embrace high enough to breathe Q in at the base of his throat. Q’s hands fidgeted, but his protests about the state James was in petered off as James simply breathed him in. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too. Honestly, I was pretty sure that in rebuilding the damn thing, I’d probably be figured out.” 

James huffed a laugh into Q’s neck, but had no choice but to release him as the door buzzer sounded. 

Reaching for his discarded shirt, James draped it over his shoulders, but didn't bother buttoning it; it appealed to a skewed sense of propriety that unless he'd be indulging during post-coital bliss, he ought to be at least somewhat dressed before he ate. _"Delivery."_ Came the slightly garbled voice through the intercom, and Q pressed the button to let him up. 

Something niggled at James as they waited for the man to make his way up to the flat, but it took a shameful amount of time to realize what it was that niggled at him—enough time for Q to be opening the door. 

The shift in Q's demeanour was subtle to anyone who didn’t know Q very well, and James cursed himself: Q’s intercom was never garbled, not this one. “Mr. Denbigh.” 

Likely, Denbigh knew he was in the flat, to have known Q was expecting a delivery, but James was just out of eyesight of the door, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself; to relocate further out of view for the element of surprise should Q’s instincts of the man be correct enough that he should attempt to kidnap Q, or to move into the line of sight and make a very bold statement that Q was not alone and— 

But he would be alone. James would have to leave him; he would have to leave him very soon, in point of fact, and in doing so, he would be leaving Q unprotected. "What can I do for you?" 

Q was standing his ground; back viciously straight and features set as he looked at the other man. "Why, Q, I've told you to call me Max." 

The oily quality of the man's voice set James's teeth on edge. "Calling you Mr. Denbigh is already a breach of protocol, sir: you ought to be known as C." 

A hint of smile graced James's features at that: Q had been the only Quartermaster in James's tenure to actually follow the rules when it came to his name, and James had made no bones about flouting the rules when it came to both Mallory and his predecessor. "The formality surely isn't necessary, Q." The title seemed to grate slightly at Denbigh, and James found himself loving it all the more. "I'd like for us to be...close." 

The tiniest of tilts to Q's chin was all the warning given that Denbigh needed to backtrack, and James knew that look, but Denbigh clearly didn't. "Surely, Mr. Denbigh, you have heard of my relationship with the Double-Oh programme." 

"Yes, I've heard much about what terrors they are." Denbigh was smirking. The man was smirking as if he'd actually managed to figure Q out, and James was going to send Moneypenny a bouquet the size of Q just for feeding the man that misinformation. "Appalling that Mr. Mallory put you in charge of them; they are legendarily difficult." 

James bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, because Q's hand on the heavy door began tapping expletives in Morse directed at the man he was refusing to politely invite into his flat. James hoped that Q wasn't about to show his hand in regards to their full relationship: feeling, somehow, that it was better left as a card up their proverbial sleeve. "I do expect my dinner shortly, Mr. Denbigh: I have ask that if you would like an audience with me, you arrange one through my assistant, Miss Estevez." 

Zinnia was not his assistant, in point of fact, but James knew that she was very, very good at misdirection and political-cockblocking when it came to keeping Q out of the clutches of the officials he hated to deal with. "This isn't a work call, Q." 

"You have me at a loss, then, Mr. Denbigh." 

The equanimity in Q's voice was a warning, and James’s hackles raised at that tone in Q’s voice. “I was quite put out that you refused to work with my team on the Nine Eyes project—“ 

The buzzer cut through, and James readied himself to extract Q if it came to it. “That would be my dinner, Mr. Denbigh. Forgive me, but I must insist that we keep our association limited only to a professional capacity, and create an appointment when you next wish to speak to me." James did up his buttons quickly, and Q let out a sigh more in body than in breath, acknowledging that James would have to be the one to escort the unwelcome guest downstairs and bring up the pizza. James slid into his jacket, presenting as smooth a façade as he could manage, all things considered. Q stepped away from the door as he drew close, and Denbigh visibly recoiled at the sight of him, before a mask fell into place all too obviously for James to ever think the man was made for spying. "007, may I introduce Max Denbigh..." 

"C," James greeted smoothly, and bit back his smirk at the look on Denbigh's face at being addressed with the proper codename. "I am the agent designated as the Quartermaster's dedicated bodyguard. I'm afraid I must also insist that you refrain from gaining entry to this building under false pretenses again." 

Denbigh had a cruelness to his eyes; a half-mad gleam that James knew to be dangerous, without question. The cruelty transmuted itself over his features to a cold, professional air, "I would have thought that you could have stopped me coming up in the first place, then, 007." 

Q's mouth curled, not in a smile, but in a show of teeth that held nothing but bloodlust, "I prefer to use my home security system for intruders as a first line of defence. Had you come in without my permission, you would have been shot with a highly potent neurotoxin which starts with paralysis and ends with your eyes, brain, and tongue liquifying if I don't administer the antidote. Among the other countermeasures." 

The sheer number and range of countermeasures had been impressive enough when Q-Branch had installed them, but James took a perverse pleasure in the paling of the other man. Keeping a smooth professionalism, James gestured past Denbigh, "Shall we, sir?"


	31. Screaming Out, But It Just Won't Help

Stealing the DB10 was going to come back to bite him on a personal level, and he knew it, but going rogue as he was could easily prove to see him executed: M's orders or not. Arranging to tell Eve had been simple enough, though calling in David had proved to be too much; 009 left without his lovely car, and Q likely going to enlist Alec in burning all of James's worldly possessions while he plotted the best way to slowly kill him. 

That Q arrived at the health resort was nothing short of infuriating, though. Q was far too valuable to have been allowed to travel alone, and Moneypenny had to have known he was going. James had only managed to keep himself from snarling at Q because Q was trying to save him, even at the cost of his own skin. 

When things with Dr. Swann began to heat up, and they separated, James had never felt such a tight clutch of anxiety around his heart. He was leaving Q unprotected, and if _anything_ happened to him, James would never forgive himself for it. 

Walking into the hotel room Q had given as his, James stopped so abruptly that Dr. Swann had to catch herself against his back in order not to completely fall over him. Trussed up on the queen-sized bed in the little room, a man who could only be described as a "thug" was glaring murderously at James and Dr. Swann from over a gag made of an abominable tie Eve had given Q for Christmas. "007, lovely of you to join us. I'd ask if that was you causing a ruckus, but that question doesn't bear the asking, the answer is so obvious."

Q had set up the desk to face the room, and the glow of his computer screen cast his skin even more pale, and the cut down the line of his gorgeous cheekbone from blood red to wine. "Q..." 

"Doctor Swann, I presume. You may call me Q. I regret we're meeting in such circumstances." Q's voice was light and polite and unreadable to James. "Are either of you injured?" 

Behind him still, Doctor Swann shook her head, eyes still fixed on the man on the bed. "What the bloody hell ha--" 

"You may have been right about Oberhauser, 007, forgive my doubt." Q interrupted, voice utterly professional in the same way it had been with Denbigh, and James felt as he had when the floor had disappeared beneath him in Mexico. Q was utterly aloof; completely blasé. He'd told James in the resort that he really hated him, and James was beginning to wonder if this was what losing Q felt like. 

"Would you like help to bandage that cut, Q?" Dr. Swann offered softly, her gaze now trained on the man behind the computer. 

"Thank you." Q accepted, "I'd do it myself, but I'm a little caught up at present. I have a medical kit in my computer bag there." 

Dr. Swann made it to the bag before James could, and it was like that morning: Q injured before him, and James's every attempt to help useless in the face of those already around him. "Q," James began, voice managing to be soft despite the anger and the fear boiling inside him, "what happened?" 

With an utterly placid gaze, Q looked up at him again from the warmer regard he'd begun to show Dr. Swann. "An attempted kidnapping off of the ski lift. I only managed to capture one of the two; I do hope he's the more useful hostage." 

"What happened to the other one?" James asked, with a vicious hope that he would have the chance to kill a man who'd nearly laid hands on Q. 

"He'll be found dead of apparent heart failure." 

Worse than the reply was Dr. Swann's sudden stillness when she crossed the desk to provide medical aid. 

"Don't worry, Dr. Swann. I've had far worse than a couple broken fingers. Mr. Bond can attest to that." 

Dr. Swann's grey gaze swept over to him and immediately away, her lips pressed in a thin line. "Have you administered pain medication?" 

"No, and I'd rather not while I need a clear head. I just need my cheek cleaned up and plastered, and I'll be right as rain." 

"Q--" James's voice betrayed him again, and Q's look was so severe that it made something in him flinch. 

"That's quite enough, Mr. Bond. Now, the ring is covered in the trace DNA of major players from Quantum, as well as Silva's, and Mr. Oberhauser's. It's not likely that each of these organizations were rolled under one umbrella--" 

"Its name is SPECTRE." Dr. Swann supplied, glancing from her work on Q's cheek to James and back again. "My father worked for them." 

"Do you know anything of L'Americain?" Q asked gently. James drew into himself, arms crossing over his chest as he stared at Q openly, his features set in lines of disapproval. 

"It's a hotel in Morocco." Dr. Swann supplied, smoothing an oversized plaster over Q's cheek. "My father...he liked it there." 

"Then to Morocco you go, 007." Q told him primly. "Dr. Swann, you are a target: I would recommend, under normal circumstances, that you come back to London with me so that we can provide protection; however, I believe that your knowledge of your father might aid Bond in his hunt. It is your choice, but I will vouch for 007's skills in protecting an asset." 

"You're not going back on your own." James schooled his voice so that it was low and calm, his hands bunched into fists in the cradle of his crossed arms. "You'll have to come with us." 

Q's brows shot upwards, a stony doubt in every line of his frown. "Dr. Swann needs your focus now, 007, not me. I am more than capable of making the flight back to London: I made the flight here on my own, after all." 

His heart dropped to his stomach at that, the acidic rage building almost completely self-directed. Q hated to fly; hated the loss of control. That he had flown to come to James was much more than James could ever even attempt to compensate for, setting aside his theft and the attempted abduction. 

"You have your quarry, 007. Get to hunting."


	32. Say Goodbye, Goodbye to Everything

_"Your Q," Madeleine had begun as the train from Morocco to the SPECTRE base cut through the night, "you are in love with him."_

_James had been laying on the charm for her, but he had fully expected her observation, “Very much so.”_

_“The…tension in that hotel room…” James had had to commend her for the diplomacy of using the word “tension”. “You were nearly growling, James. Particularly with the revelation of his broken fingers.”_

_“Are you analyzing him, or me?” James had asked smoothly._

_“Both of you together.”_

_The teasing lilt had gotten James pinned, and he'd taken a drink of his martini before giving in, “He’s been through too much, in my opinion, and yet I seem to have simply forced him into going through more.”_

_“He was quite angry with you…but not, I think, for the danger. His was…a low-burning fury.”_

_“Over the course of forty-eight hours, I stole a three-million quid car he’d built for MI6, slept with a widow for information--which he would object to being on the list, but still--and crashed said car into the Tiber.”_

_Madeleine’s look of shock was almost enough to have James laughing._

_“Past those forty-eight hours, during which time he was lying to his superiors and mine on my behalf, he then proceeded to lie to not only our superiors, but the security team of friends and colleagues put in place as his protection in order to board a plane, which he is terrified of, and come to find me in the resort.” James had continued, “Following that, he nearly got abducted and I appear with a particularly lovely blonde in the hotel room he had asked me to in order to try to pull me back onto the proverbial tracks of what he understood our mission to be. And now, he is back to lying to his superiors, forced to be blind to where we go and what we do, in order to keep me from being hunted down and more than likely shot.”_

_In the face of that, Madeleine had taken a drink as if fortifying herself, and James plastered on his most charming smile._

_“So you see, he has every right to be murderous, and I live in fear of the day we succeed, if only for the fact that it means facing his more than justified wrath.” James had finished off his martini, the burn of it less pleasant than he'd remembered. "This mission could very well spell my death even if I were to get out of it without so much as a scrape, Madeleine. When it started, we knew we wouldn't be playing by the rules, but...for all intents and purposes, I have gone rogue, even if one of my superiors knows what's really happening--and I have put Q in a position which threatens not only his job, but his life."_

_"So I should have went with your Q to London for protection, I see."_

The rage within him was remarkably tightly wound as he walked along the figure crawling out of the wreckage of the helicopter on the bridge. 

While he had been getting his skull drilled into, Q had been working himself to the bone to fix the situation he'd left in his wake, and there was no scale on which to measure just how much James Bond hated himself for the look in Q's eyes when James had told the others that, of anyone, Q would be the one who could trash Nine Eyes. 

Q had smoothed things over with Mallory; Q had scattered his operatives in the wind, untraceable even by him, in order to keep the rest of the Double-Ohs safe; Q had very nearly worked himself to death. And Blofeld had thought that it was Madeleine that was at James's heart. 

"Finish it." 

James could. He had one shot left, and another magazine besides. He wasn't done with Six, and Six wasn't done with him--but as he pointed the gun at the man who should have been his brother, James knew he was done with being a sword for the service: it was time he became the shield he'd sworn to himself to become for Q. "I have more important things to do." James told him, ejecting the magazine and pocketing it, turning his eyes to where Mallory stood amongst the emergency services on the other side of the bridge. 

On the opposite side, Madeleine stood, watching the scene unfold, and rather than James walking to her, she took off at a run to meet him, taking his arm as he stepped away from Blofeld, Mallory and the emergency services arriving to take custody of the broken man as James walked Madeleine towards the line of ambulances and bobbies standing watch over the mess. 

Moneypenny and Tanner were among the waiting, but James's heart gave a squeeze that Q was nowhere to be found. 

"Were you aware, Bond," Moneypenny began, voice a little more tart than their usual exchange, "that it takes only 22 pounds of pressure to pop a testicle like a water balloon?" James stopped short, staring at her, "We both know the average woman can exert a squeezing force of around twice that...and we both know I'm above-average. Fix things with him." 

Madeleine looked nearly star-struck by Eve, but she turned slightly to look up at him, "It just doesn't end for you, does it?" 

Tanner, who had turned about the colour of seafoam at Moneypenny's premise, started nervously giggling slightly, before he extended his hand forward to Madeleine, "Bill Tanner, ma'am. You're Dr. Madeleine Swann, yes?" 

Madeleine abandoned James to Eve's clutches, pulled into Tanner's mild-mannered, harmless façade and following him as he wandered away, towards an ambulance. 

"Where is he?" 

"He was shot." Moneypenny practically seethed, "Trying to bring down Nine Eyes, he was shot in the side and the bastard didn't tell any of us until he almost collapsed from blood loss because he was trying to make sure that you were bloody okay." 

James had to force himself to not immediately start running, "Where is he?" 

"Medical. He refused to be taken to St. Bart's." 

The urge to go to him was overpowering. 

But there was still far too much work left to do.


	33. This Time I Might Just Disappear

Light slanted into the hospital room as James suffered the indignity of being wheeled in. 

Q was exhausted and pale against his bedclothes; Mary's quilt not yet made its way to him, and the only indication of visitors a red lip print on his forehead from Eve's favourite but rarely-worn red lipstick. 

"What happened?!" Q demanded, looking immediately incensed and struggling to sit upright fully from the more comfortable slump that would keep pressure off of the wound in his side. 

"A madman drilled a hole in my skull in an attempt to give me prosopagnosia." James replied as if this kind of thing happened a lot, "So far, we think he failed, but I'm being kept for observation." 

Q's concern didn't lessen, but he did let himself return to the drawn-in, almost defeated posture he'd taken on his bed as James's gurney was parked so that they could look at each other, per James's demands lest he release himself from Medical. 

"I tracked down Alec and Peggy; Marc and David are more than likely actually going on a fucking honeymoon finally, while the going is good." James began, "Dr. Swann is considering a job offer onto the Psych team. And I have to admit, even I would be hard-pressed to get away with half my shit were she to be assigned my case. Mallory gave me a good bollocking about going behind his back, but Moneypenny actually threatened to physically pop my testicles if I didn't fix things with you immediately." 

Q looked over at him, the exhaustion bringing wet to his eyes, and all James wanted was to crawl into Q's bed and hold him, but that was not a good idea. "What is it you think you need to fix, James?" 

"I stole the car...put you in danger, left you alone, risked my neck, forced you into a position in which you nearly lost your job and your life...there's so much, Q, that I can't even begin to comprehend the extent of the mess I've made, let alone make inroads to cleaning it. I'd hoped you'd be pleased that Alec and Peggy are en route back, that you'll have them for support, too--" 

Q took a breath as if he was about to speak, and James stopped talking, but no words seemed to come, Q's throat clicking as he swallowed. There were tears at the corners of his eyes, and James slid up and forward on his bed, reaching across the space between the two gurneys to see if Q would allow him to take his hand. "You were supposed to be a safe bet," Q breathed, his voice rubbed raw as if dragged over slivers of glass, and James hated himself all the more, "I always knew that I would come to mourn you...I had to figure that you wouldn't be driving off into the sunset with-with a beautiful blonde. But this, James...I can't do this." 

"Neither can I." James told him quietly, "Every second I was out there, all I wanted was you. Your apartment, your office, your comfort and security. All I wanted was to be back with you, wondering what I could cook for us, or if you'd ever been taken dancing--if you'd even like that. I can't do this, either, Q, and I don't intend to any longer. Even with the empty spaces in the Double-Oh roster, Mallory has agreed to allow me a permanent placement as your security detail, and as a special trainer for Six. The 007 callsign is now and will always be a dedicated Double-Oh to the protection of the Quartermaster." 

Q looked desolated, his tears running slowly down his cheeks, "You love the field." 

"I loved the field. But I'm tired, and I don't want to keep pushing forward; I want to stay with you, if you'll let me." 

Q took a breath that sounded painful, tearing his eyes away to turn them to the ceiling. “I cannot bear the thought of taking from you something that you love, Bond. I cannot allow myself to be the reason that you lose the life—“ 

“I would argue that it is no life; that all I’ve had has been a death wish coupled with a devotion to duty. But I don’t think you quite understand: it’s impossible to without complete context. So let’s try this: Stop thinking of yourself as the reason, Q; think of your place in the equation as that of the excuse. I’m tired, and I’m old. Retiring outright could potentially be shameful, and we both know I don’t have much of a reputation with Peggy and the others as I do to the more casual observers.” 

“What about Doctor Swann? What about every other Doctor Swann out there?” 

Mentally both kicking himself and patting himself on the back for knowing that jealousy—no, jealousy was for those who did not own what they so viciously desired, this was possessiveness, because James Bond may have been a blunt instrument, but he was _Q’s_ without question—would play a larger part than Q had initially thought. “I would ask “Madeleine who”, but the madman-playing-with-my-brain thing doesn’t lend itself to memory jokes at present.” 

“She’s lovely—“ 

“Yes, completely.” 

“—And intelligent—“

“Fiendishly so.” 

“Why would you choose—“ 

“And here is where I’m going to cut you off completely, you adorably thick-headed fool.” James wrapped his hands around one of Q’s and held fast, “Do you know what Dr. Swann and I did while we were whiling away the hours between nearly getting physically thrown from a moving train and arriving in a barren wasteland? We were talking about _you_. She didn’t understand how people like us could fall so entirely in love with each other that we’d risk it all. Because you risked _everything_ for me, Q. Your faith in me is the best gift I have ever been given.” 

James had only a little slack left on the length of his IV feed, and Q would more than likely be cross with him if he simply tore it out, so James limited his need to press kisses to Q's skin to the hand he'd already laid claim to. “I’m still cross with you.” Q protested mildly, flicking James in the ear with broken fingers as if that’d stop him from gently and attentively kissing Q’s bruised and scraped knuckles, like it would take away the injury. 

“You have absolutely every right to be. I lay myself at your mercy, Q; I can’t for the life of me think how I will ever make it up to you.” It was the naked truth; James could wine and dine Q in any number of ways, as if that would make even a soupçon of difference, but he knew that it would feel cheap and meaningless in the face of all that had come before it. 

When James looked up from his task, Q was still crying silently, his eyes far away. Releasing Q’s hand and twisting, James managed to snag the IV stand and manoeuvre both it and himself so that they were in easy reach of Q. He trailed fingers that felt burning hot against Q’s cool skin to catch Q’s tears, and James brushed a thumb over Q’s lips. 

“Is there a way I can fix this?” 

Q looked at him, and his eyes were the tell that Q was trying to muster his usual gumption to be strong now. James hated it. “You take care of me.” Q mumbled, voice high and strangled, and James immediately knew that the role of caretaker he’d cast himself as was the only thing keeping Q from banishing him. 

“Q,” something utterly selfish in James urged him to let it stand, the status quo giving him what he wanted—but he also knew that it wasn’t really what he wanted at all, to be allowed close only because Q had come to the conclusion that letting James in was the _only way_ he would be loved, “I would take care of you until my dying breath, even if you told me right now to fuck off. Don’t. Please.” James wasn’t sure how to articulate what he was asking Q not to do, not properly. It was insulting to Q to think that Q would do this just for the sake of feeling loved and cared for: there was too much between them for something that petty. This was more than asking Q to let him stay; this was asking Q to give him the chance to love him again. 

If James had not moved the IV stand to be closer to Q; if Q had not let James learn to read him; if Eve Moneypenny hadn’t been on her way to visit her darling boffin, both James and Q would have died in the next minute. Max Denbigh, unaccounted for from the time they’d launched their assault on Nine Eyes, fired before he could fully aim at the occupants in the hospital room.

And James Bond’s eyes widened in shock at the splatter of blood over Q’s clothes before the pain of being shot even registered.


	34. To Fight When You Feel Like Flying

The Quartermaster was a useful tool in MI6’s arsenal, but when it came down to it, none of them could be much more than that. 

Max Denbigh had been gunned down after one shot; one shot which had failed to meet its true mark, the look of sudden fear on Q’s face pulling James closer to him—a shield of skin and blood and bone against whatever threat showed itself in the doorway. 

There was no thought; no intention behind the base need of James Bond to protect that which he loved. 

There would never come a day when Q would manage to forget James’s blood spattered against his bedclothes, his hospital gown, his skin. 

James was torn from Q’s arms, from his desperate, grasping attempts to compress James’s leaving life back into his broken body. 

James was run into a surgical suite. 

And while James was gone, Eve Moneypenny, sidearm back in its holster, stepped into the room, ignoring the cleanup of the man she’d killed for trying to kill either of her boys, and swiftly and efficiently saw Q cleaned, moved to a new bed in a more secure room, and gently sedated. 

“Q?” Madeleine Swann asked from the doorway as Eve sat beside the banjaxed boffin, neither of them able to voice anything, and neither of them willing to try. 

Madeleine carried with her a bouquet of peonies, her fatigue of the wild rush of a mission with James Bond written in the pinch at the corner of her mouth, and the lingering pallor in her cheeks. 

It was funny, how the most innocent of words could cause someone breaking, “Q, what happened? Are you alright?”


	35. Repeating From the Beating of Your Telltale Heart

In Q’s hospital bed, Peggy curled around him as Thalia used to. David and Marc had dead-heated Alec in coming home, regardless of the fact they hadn’t been called, and Eve and Madeline sat at Q’s bedside more often than not. 

“Why do I never get invited to the good parties?” James Bond managed from beneath an ocean of pain medications and the strange, Purgatorial fuzz of exhaustion that never quite led to sleep that came with protracted hospital stays. 

From the centre of the smothering of love and friendship that had built around him, Q smiled.


End file.
